We, The Kings
by MissPronounced
Summary: A medieval tale of ancient prophecies, chivalrous duelling and a forbidden love between a Slytherin Prince and a lowly knight. Eventual Harry/Draco. Complete.
1. Gryffindor and Slytherin

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling._

_A/N: Here we are again, standing at the start of another story whose word count far exceeded what I had originally planned. _

_ But before you begin, let me state that if you are looking for a story similar to MHDSR (my first fic), look elsewhere. This one is worlds apart and has an entirely different genre and plot that deviates greatly from canon. For one thing, it's set in medieval Europe. That is, if you were to take Harry and mix him together with Camelot, this is kind of what you'd get._

_ Also, after you've read a few chapters, you'll start to wonder whether or not this is actually a Harry/Draco story. Trust me, it is. It just takes a while to get there. For those of you who have read MHDSR, you know I take my sweet time with romance _=)

_Hope you enjoy it!_

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Prologue

**Gryffindor and Slytherin**

Our tale begins long before you were born, my young friend.

A time when griffins roamed the skies, dragons prowled through the earth, magic was the language of life, and the genesis of mankind had only just begun on this thriving land. A time when the Empire had not yet been established.

It is in this time that two young boys were born. Only babies, but destined to be more.

From infancy to youth, they grew up side by side, creating a bond of friendship so tight, scarce little could separate them. Although not related by blood, Godric and Salazar were closer than brothers.

They spent all their time together: riding wild horses across the Nullius Planes; sparring with sharpened tree branches on the edge of the Haldor Cliffs; and swimming in the crystalline, blue waters of Sevan Lake. They were inseparable. Salazar, being a year older, took it upon himself to care for and even teach his younger friend things Godric did not know; things like Salazar's strange ability to speak to snakes.

As youths, the two friends would let their imagination run wild. They created stories of a time in the future when they would both be mighty kings of even mightier kingdoms.

"We'll call our kingdoms Gryffindor and Slytherin!" Salazar suggested with a laugh.

By early manhood, the boys had grown into handsome, strong, and almost fearless young men. Salazar, a half foot taller than his friend, had black hair that stood atop a fierce and determined face, though his bright blue eyes broke his rough demeanor. Godric, on the other hand, sported hair of chestnut brown and olive-coloured eyes. His face was kind and young, with a defined masculine line to his jaw. Together, they made young women swoon.

Their names were known not only in their own village, but also in the neighboring towns. Their popularity increased in the coming months and years, and soon, they were granted equal nobility in their land.

It seemed nothing, or no one, could stand in between the two.

Until one day, someone did.

Not much is known of her history, but legend passed down from generation to generation, says that a woman of the rarest beauty captured the heart of young Salazar. Her name was Ciara, from the Eastern Lands.

The friendship between Godric and Salazar trembled with instability, as Salazar spent his time doting on Ciara, wooing her and promising her the world. He proclaimed his undying love for her.

What Salazar was not aware of was his friend's similar attraction towards Ciara, though Godric kept silent about it.

Godric and Ciara spent the early mornings together, watching the sunrise and picking wildflowers, until she returned back to the village, to spend her afternoons with Salazar.

Time passed in this fashion, until Ciara discovered that a love kindled in her heart for only the younger of the two friends, though she let her feelings remain hidden to Salazar. She found she treasured her time with Godric far more than her time with Salazar.

Under Salazar's blind eye, the two young friends confessed their love for each other. Devoid of any traditional ceremony of marriage, they pledged themselves to each other, but promised to keep it silent.

Their secret, although well kept, was inevitably found out.

Unplanned by the two lovers, Ciara fell pregnant. As her stomach began to curve with early maternity, Salazar's blind eye was opened. His anger was released like a thunderous storm. Godric begged for his forgiveness, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. With intense hatred and humiliation, Salazar battled his friend.

Villagers flocked as the two strongest and most feared men of the land declared war. And before long, allies were formed. Citizens took sides and formed forces behind the two men. Their battle waged on, until the entire land was divided down the middle. Legend says their battle lasted for months. During this bloody time, armies were created and the kingdoms that the two childhood friends had dreamed of, Gryffindor and Slytherin, were established.

As months of war dragged on, Godric ordered an indestructible Sword to be made by his blacksmiths. It was delivered to him the following day.

The weapon was a sight to behold.

Longer than all other blades, and with a hilt encrusted with blood-red rubies, the Red Sword struck fear into the hearts of those that dared to venture near it. With every swipe, the steel sang shrilly. Summoning the Deep Magic within him, Godric infused the blade with supernatural powers, containing within its metal the strength to defeat his enemy.

With this Sword, he fought Salazar. Myths proclaim that with every thrust and strike of this legendary Sword, thunder rumbled and sparks flew. With all his might, Godric wrestled his friend.

Soon after this, however, his beloved Ciara died giving birth. On the eve of the New Year, Alexander was born. Despite the blessing of new life, Godric mourned her death. He could not find it within himself to fight his enemy at this time. He asked for a ceasefire, if only for a handful of days.

Salazar, however, did not rest. Upon hearing of the birth of his enemy's son, he devised a wicked plan. As the sun set on the night after Alexander was born, Salazar's dark minions stormed the Gryffindor castle and captured its heir. The screaming babe was taken hostage.

Godric, in anguish over Ciara's death and tired from the endless months of battle, marched into his enemy's land and struck a bargain with his enemy. He would sacrifice himself, if Salazar would let Alexander go back to Gryffindor, and there remain.

As all stories worth telling go, Salazar had other plans. In Godric's moment of weakness, he struck him down with a fierce blow, driving his ruthless sword into his enemy's heart. He retrieved Godric's Sword and ran it into the ground before his corpse, until it was buried to the hilt. Then and there, he declared a curse upon Gryffindor, coupled with unfathomable magic.

"_I declare a curse in this dark hour:_

_The Griffin, struck down and stripped of power._

_Mark my words, for he is slain,_

_Never again will my enemy reign,_

_Lest this Sword be retaken,_

_By the same blood; ever forsaken._

_It shall come to pass only then,_

_As the Snake and Griffin war again."_

With Gryffindor without its king, Slytherin thrived. Alexander, still a baby, was declared the heir of Slytherin. Salazar, drunk with his victory, caroused and celebrated in intoxicated revelry, mocking his fallen enemy, while the citizens of Gryffindor were scattered and made lower than slaves.

To all, it seemed that the story ended here.

And it did.

Until fifteen hundred years later, when a young boy happened upon a forgotten secret.

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_Next Chapter: The curse unearthed._


	2. From a Small Spark

_A/N: Two things._

_ One. I realise these chapters are far too short. But fear not; the next chapter will see a nice jump in word count._

_ Two. I probably should have told you at the start of the last chapter that as well as this being a Harry/Draco, it's also a James/Lily story. Weren't expecting that, were you? _

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PART 1

**From a Small Spark**

_ [1500 years later]_

The sun began to rise, transforming the wakening sky into a pallet of extravagant colours: orange, yellow, blue and purple. A fresh day was heralded to the peaceful earth below. A bird soared silently through the air, carrying food for her young; a young antelope skipped across the tall, swaying reeds of grass below; and sleeping souls were only just stirring.

The landscape was picturesque. Under the magnificent sky sprawled fields upon fields of open grassland. There were rocky mountains to the south and thick green forests to the north. In the distance ahead, the natural vista was interrupted by the obvious indications of human life. Parallel dirt lines on the ground, the result of the route of hundreds of trade caravans, cut a road straight towards it.

A city.

No, larger than that.

An Empire.

An extensive metropolis of huge stone structures, enormous monuments and sprawling marketplaces, populated by more people than anywhere else in the land combined. It was the centre of technology and might. The world's best minds studied at its universities; while scientists discovered cures to diseases that were yet unknown to smaller regions in the land. The Empire boasted the world's largest army. Thousands upon thousands of infantry, cavalry and archers trained daily for war, for power, and for the chance to overcome any and every enemy.

It was the Slytherin Empire, ruled by one man. The King; the most powerful man in the world.

The centre of the city was dominated by his colossal castle—the Black Castle, as it had become to be known to those who knew of it. It was an unbeatable fortress built entirely of smooth ebony stone. It struck an imposing sight, looming over the land like a giant beast. Towers and parapets spiked up from the massive structure like spears piercing the colourful sky. Its portcullis was an unwelcoming lattice of sheer metal, keeping unwanted intruders well clear of its entryway. Crenellations hemmed the edges of the Keep like the jaws of a creature anxiously waiting to snap on its prey. Pocketed around the Black Castle were dozens of Watch Towers, each a tall dark sentinel, armed with Long Bowmen, lest anyone venture near.

This vast and mighty Empire held the world in an iron first. Its neighbouring kingdoms, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, trembled at its sight and mention.

The first of the sun's rays peaked over the mountains in the southern horizon. It was early dawn. The Empire and its Black Castle was as silent as death. Many were still sleeping.

There was one soul, however, who was far from slumber.

Unbeknownst to the sleeping citizens in the castle, one lone young man sat awake, deep in the bowels of the dark fortress.

This young man's name was James Potter.

He had been awake for several hours now, reading ancient records and legends of Slytherin's history, by the light of a single candle. His parents and friends had no idea that this was what he had been doing for almost two months now.

James had an intense desire to learn about his kingdom's origins, and had been surprised to discover that his tutors would not divulge any of that information to him. Thus, true to his stubborn nature, he took it upon himself to trespass into a section of the castle he had never been in. And here he was to be found, pouring over the fragile, yellow parchments that few eyes had ever seen.

Over the past two months, James had so far discovered that before Slytherin became a mighty Empire, it was a simple Kingdom, akin to the other two bordering cities. Slytherin was the first Kingdom to be established. Approximately 300 years later, Hufflepuff was founded, followed by Ravenclaw.

Tonight, again, his eyes perused the pages in front of him, almost inhaling the information available. He was currently reading about the changes Slytherin underwent as it transformed into the dominant power it was today.

James' hands reached to turn the page over and continue reading from the other side—

Blank.

The page was blank.

He huffed in disappointment. It seemed this particular record was not yet finished. He sat back with disappointment etched across his face. He wanted to read more.

Standing up, James gathered the record in front of him, tied a thin piece or rope around it and in a knot and placed it back carefully on the shelf he found it, in the exact position as before, so as not to alert any of the castle's advisors of its recent removal. Holding his candle steady, he scanned the shelves in front of him to pick his next victim, when suddenly he froze, chills dancing up and down his spine.

There was the sound of a key fitting into a lock. This near-silent sound was deafening in the tomb-like room.

_Someone was coming in!_

Quiet as a mouse, James moved quickly deeper into the shelves of the dark room, blowing out his candle's little flame as he went. He crouched down as the door opened, now hidden by rows of shelves.

With an echoing _creeeaaak_ that reverberated through his entire frame, the heavy wooden door eased open, letting light in. James held his breath, and his gaze focused on the parchments that were right next to him. Having never ventured this deep into the record room, he hadn't yet read these ones. His hazel eyes sparkled with interest when he realized one of the records was not tied together properly, as if someone, in a rush, had merely stuffed it onto the shelf. In their poor effort, however, they had left the parchment open.

James tilted his head to read what was left unconcealed, but he quickly discovered that some of the words were hidden, as the parchment was partly folded.

"_I declare a curse in this_

_The Griffin, struck down_

_Mark my words, for he is _

_Never again will my ene_

_Lest this Sword be retake_

_By the same blood, ever fo_

_It shall come to pass only t_

_As the Snake and Griffin w_

That was all the parchment afforded at this angle. But that was enough to kindle a fire of curiosity. With bated breath, he prayed that whoever it was that entered would leave quickly.

His prayer was granted. But as the intruder left the record room, he closed the door and the boy was left in the pitch black yet again, rendering him unable to read the parchment. Grabbing the record, he stumbled out from behind the shelves. The parchment was quickly stuffed beneath his brown tunic, and stealthily, he crept up to his room, running down corridors and climbing up dozens of staircases, until his thighs were burning from the exertion.

He wished his room wasn't in the tallest turret of the castle. But being the Crown Prince of Slytherin, he knew it was only to be expected.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: The cast of characters increase. Meet Sirius, Snape, Lucius and a rather mysterious man named Tom Riddle._


	3. A Royal Pain in the Arse

Chapter 2

**A Royal Pain in the Arse**

Crown Prince James was incontrovertibly bored.

He was sitting through yet another hour-long droning lecture about the recent abolishment of the peace treaty between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, due to "political instabilities" determined by the King, and the profound military and economic consequences thereafter.

It was nothing if not dreary.

James couldn't care less about the so-called peace treaty, and found his eyes wandering around his small classroom. It was a largely unfurnished room—a few tables, some chairs, and blackboard out the front—built with large grey bricks; the kind of bricks jails were constructed with. His eyes found little to be interested in. He was rewarded a slight smile as he spotted a brick in the wall opposite him that had a crude drawing of his Economics professor doing something with a long stick-like pole that wasn't humanly feasible. He and Sirius, his closest friend, had drawn it a few months ago: a testimony to how little importance they granted to their education. Needless to say, the resulting punishment had been agonizing.

Casting his eyes over, he spotted Sirius, similarly bored, doodling on his parchment with a quill. James smiled at his lack of enthusiasm and wished they were sitting together so they could share in their boredom, but twenty minutes ago they had been separated. Apparently, they were "quite the disruption."

James' eyes flitted over to the seat next to his, where Lucius Malfoy was scribbling down information hurriedly. James didn't understand why he was. He, of all people in the room, should know more about the peace treaty, or lack thereof, than anyone else. It was his father, Abraxas Malfoy, one of the King's most trusted consultants, who initiated the abolishment.

With a roll of his eyes, James looked on to the fourth student in their small class. Snivellus Snape. Unconsciously, he wrinkled his nose as if the very mention of Snape let out a bad odour. He too was writing notes, but not with the same vigour as Lucius. James' eyes lingered on the greasy state of his black hair, and wondered whether he should lend him a bar of soap for the next time he washed.

The fifth and last pupil of their small class was much older than the other four students. In fact, James wasn't even sure why he still sat in their classes, considering his age far surpassed James' own by at least ten years. His name was Tom Riddle and he always carried an aura of mystery with him. James had talked with him often enough, but still could not figure him out. He, unlike the others in the room, was not here based on family lineage.

James wasn't too sure, but he had heard that Tom had built himself up from the lowliest peasant clan, being a class above his family in both intelligence and looks. He was accepted into the royal tutelage, as were the other four, and was now an accepted presence in the Black Castle. In fact, Tom has raised himself so far as to be considered the King's right-hand man. If, for example, the King was away and was unable to rule the kingdom for a few days, Tom Riddle stepped in. James found it somewhat bizarre that a no-name was granted such an honour, but Tom was brilliant at what he did. And hence he was found in their small room, listening to the professor, not bothering to take notes, as he was already very aware of the current political status of Slytherin and her neighbours.

"… If it weren't for the King's decisions, our credibility as the most powerful nation in the land would be ruined …" Professor Tordell droned on ceaselessly, his old grey eyes stooping dangerously low, his thick white beard hiding the frown that never left his face. He might as well have been reading a dictionary for all James cared. "And you young lads, as the future for Slytherin, would best keep that in mind."

It was true, James had to admit, that the five students in the room right now were the future of their nation. They were the first-born sons of the four most powerful families in the kingdom, excluding Tom, who was in a league of his own. Their fathers were the ones that ruled Slytherin, and it would be their turn in the next generation.

James wasn't excited about this at all. He could imagine Tom, Lucius and Snape as King's Consultants and Advisors, but he couldn't imagine Sirius taking up his father's post as Regional Director. He snorted inwardly. Sirius couldn't care about _Slytherin_, much less its neighbouring villages and kingdoms.

But most of all, it was his own self that stumped him. His father was the King, who foresaw everything and anything that happened in Slytherin. But even though he was born into this noble family, he couldn't see himself take up post as sovereign. Being the Prince was hard enough.

"… That will be all for today's lesson. Tomorrow, we will discuss Ravenclaw's response to the ruined peace treaty." James groaned at the impending torture, wondering if his life could be any more miserable. "You may leave now."

Even though the professor had told them they could leave, no one stood up until James did. When he finally left his chair, the other four boys followed, granting the proper respect to the Crown Prince. One by one they filed out of their little dungeon.

"Prince James!" called out the professor.

James rolled his eyes and turned, while the other four walked through the doorway. Sirius silently motioned that he would wait outside for his friend.

"Professor, you really don't have to call me that, you know. Just James."

Professor Tordell looked somewhat disconcerted. "It isn't proper outside of the classroom."

"But we're not."

"Not what?"

"Outside the classroom."

"I meant, outside of class hours."

James sighed. This conversation was already becoming as tedious as the lesson he'd just endured.

They spent a moment in silence.

"So … what was it you wanted me for?" James prompted.

The professor shook his head as if he only just remembered where he was. "Ah yes … I received word that your father would like to see you in an hour."

James' forehead creased in confusion. "Why didn't he just tell me himself?"

Professor Tordell's eyebrows knitted together. "Well, the King is a busy man, you know that."

Another sigh escaped his lips. "Alright. Thank you".

"Your welcome, your Highness," the professor said, then stood silently before James, extending the awkward moment.

"Er … so, I will see you tomorrow, then," James said, "for class."

"Certainly," his teacher confirmed with a bow of his head, so that James was afforded a few of the bald peak of his wrinkly scalp. A ring of hair fenced it in.

James spun and walked through the door, wondering what his father wanted. He was met with Sirius' uninterested expression on the other side.

"Booooring," Sirius moaned in response to the day's lesson.

James smiled and shot Sirius a pointed look. "Oh but you must know, Lord Black, the future of Slytherin rests in your hands," James said with a smirk, mimicking their professor.

"I don't know what they're thinking. Honestly! Slytherin wouldn't last one day with us in charge," Sirius huffed.

"It's not like we, or they, have much choice. We were born into it," James mumbled miserably. The very thought was like a cold bucket of water dousing out a warm winter fire. James shivered subconsciously.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but couldn't deny it. "So what did the old coot want?" he asked, jerking his thumb to the classroom door.

"Hmm? Oh, that. Apparently my father wants a word with me."

Sirius frowned. "So why didn't you father just come to you himself?"

"I have no idea," James mumbled irritably.

Sirius shot him a befuddled look, cocking his eyebrows in confusion. "When do you need to go?"

"In an hour," James replied.

"Got anything on till then?" Sirius asked, an idea twinkling in his black eyes.

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Within minutes the two best friends had saddled their horses and were racing across the green pastures of the castle, urging their steeds faster.

While neatly cut grass rushed by beneath him, and nearby trees were softly brushed by the breeze, James' thoughts were swirling violently in his head. Sirius, to his credit, chose to remain quiet and let his friend wander around in his own musings.

James had lowered his head. His focus was sharp and honed. He could feel every gallop beneath him and every breath Asher, his horse, was taking. Riding was his passion. But even this thrill couldn't stop the doubt in his mind.

His seventeenth birthday was in a week. According to long-standing traditions, he would officially become a man of his own right. And according to the monarchy, he would soon be ready to take up post as King. Despite the fact that his father, Fredrick, was still alive, some of the Kings' responsibilities would be given to him.

James might, for example, rule over a small fiefdom, or oversee the training practices of new men-at-arms. The point remained that eventually, the responsibility would increase as he grew older, until the crown was given to him. No King of Slytherin ruled past their fiftieth birthday, and his father, King Fredrick, having sired him in his later age, was forty-eight.

For the King to have waited to so long to have a child had been a scandal at the time. Slytherin was in uproar when Fredrick's thirtieth birthday came and went and still he was without an heir. Fortunately, a year later, James was born, hushing the Kingdom. When asked why he waited so long, the King remained silent. Even though tradition dictated that a King must have an heir before his twenty-fifth birthday.

James groaned silently and bent his head lower towards the horse.

_Traditions. Traditions. Traditions!_ James was _fed up_ with traditions, but he knew he couldn't change the way Slytherin functioned. He was well aware of the change of his status, reputation and title, come next week. Starting tomorrow, with the Prince's Tournament, there would be a series of proceedings held to test his character and strength as the future King, leading to a grand ceremony to initiate his manhood and his eligibility for the Crown.

Needless to say, he was not looking forward to that.

Among these traditions, there was another that had James scowling with displeasure. He was to find a wife. And the Initiation Ceremony required him to dance with every female of equal or lesser age, born into nobility.

With a roll of his eyes, James urged Asher to move faster. Sirius felt the change in speed, and moved alongside his best friend once more.

"Sirius!" James called, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon in the far distance.

"Yes?"

"I've decided to remain sixteen forever," he announced ineffectually, closing his eyes and lifting his face to the sun overhead.

Sirius snorted and chuckled. "Alright," he granted good-naturedly, playing along with the request. "As long as you tell the King. In the meantime, I'll stop over at Merlin's house and ask him to make you immortal."

"Done," James smirked, wishing it were a possibility.

They continued to ride a bit further. It was Sirius who noticed the sun's position and called out, "James, we must be getting back. Your father wanted to talk to you, remember?"

Groaning at his imminent conversation with his father, James nodded. They headed back to the stables.

Once there, James slid off his horse and bid goodbye to Sirius. A servant rushed up to him and handed him his royal doublet with a large green crest adorned on this chest. James tightened the doublet over his tunic. He was then handed his sword and he slid it into its sheath at his left hip, while a long flowing deep green cape clasped at his shoulder and trailed down to his leather boots. An audience with the King required full formal attire, even it was his father.

He was rushing through the wide echoing stone corridors that led to the Throne Room, worrying about being late, when he heard hushed murmurs that made him promptly forget his pending appointment.

"_Shhh!_ Don't speak too loudly, or we'll get in trouble!" a harried voice whispered loudly.

"Who's going to hear us, you imbecile?" Another voice hissed in agitation.

"I don't know. Someone! Look, we best not report it missing till tomorrow. It might show up."

"Carl, you spineless idiot! It won't simply _show up_. You'd have more luck finding a matchstick in this Castle! You'll never find that scroll."

James froze, scrunching his eyebrows.

S_croll?_

"_Shhh!_" Carl warned in desperation once more. "Well … what do you suggest? Tell the King?"

"The King is too busy, and besides, he doesn't know much about the Record Room. He never goes down there himself," the first man rejected. "No, we would have to tell Lord Riddle. He's in charge of all that rubbish down there."

"It's not rubbish, it's Slytherin's history," Carl defended, "And the missing one is one of the most important scrolls—"

"—I know that! And if you had any brains at all, you wouldn't say it out loud!"

James was beyond curious now and itching to look at the scroll he had chosen to postpone reading. He was sure they were talking about the one he'd stolen. Wanting to stay and listen to the two men talk, James knew he would be late for his father.

Vowing to go upstairs later and look at the scroll, he continued on his way to the Throne Room.

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James turned the last corner and spotted the large looming doors of the Throne Room, tightly sealed shut. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. Two guards, their stony faces blank, stood at attention in front of the entranceway. Upon seeing the Prince advancing, they hurriedly moved to the sides, holding the large polished golden handles and dragging open the double doors.

They bowed their heads as he passed them. "Milord," they mumbled, as proper respect required.

Barging right on through, James saw his father, atop his throne, surrounded by his two principle battle masters.

"You wanted to speak with me, Father?" James spoke.

The King looked up. "Ay, indeed." He nodded to the pair of Captains. "Leave us for a moment."

The duo bowed in perfect synchronization and left, passing James, and exiting behind him.

The remaining occupants—the King and his son—stood still and silent. James was determined not to make the first move. If his father called him here, he could be the first to speak.

The silence stretched to a full minute. James remained standing tall, hands clasped behind his back.

"James," his father's voice resounded suddenly in the enormous room. James was pleased to discover he did not flinch. "James, one day, you are going to be king," he said bluntly, wasting no time with idle chatter.

The Prince released the breath he didn't know he was holding and resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. _Is that all?_ he wanted to say, but decided he shouldn't. Instead, he replied, "I know, Father."

"Are you ready for it?"

The King was trying to be intimidating with his choice of words and questions. For this reason, James chose his words carefully. "I ... am sure the celebrations next week will prove whether or not I am."

The King nodded slowly, waiting a few moments before beginning once more.

"The Slytherin Empire," the King began after inhaling a large breath of air, as if ready to deliver a lengthy spiel about the power and wealth of his kingdom, "is the oldest and most powerful kingdom in the entire land, James. Our supremacy spreads as far as the Eastern Lands across the Straight. We are feared, we are respected and we are the awe of the world. Slytherin houses the most noble and proud monarchy the world has ever seen. Our ancestors held up tradition in the highest way, sacrificed the greatest treasures and maintained the proudest dignity when it was their time to rule." The King paused and speared his son with a sharp, hazel-eyed gaze. "James, _you_ are next."

James stood frozen, deciding to remain silent while wondering inwardly why his father would deem this speech necessary. Everything he said, James already knew. It had been drilled into him since birth. Often, he felt as if he couldn't escape it.

The King went on: "I know you, son. You are an excellent knight, of the utmost honour and justice. You wield a sword like no other, and ride a horse as if you were born to. The people have named you Slytherin's Champion and tomorrow's Tournament will prove that once again. I have absolute faith that in battle, you will uphold our ancient kingdom; protect it to its very last stone."

James sensed a _'however'_ coming.

"However," the King continued, earning the Prince a small smirk, "Knighthood and the ability to fight and ride a horse are a mere _fraction_ of what it means to rule." The King's stare never wavered. "James, on all the other fronts, you are not ready," he judged."

Silence followed until James realized he was supposed to answer. Holding his breath, he spoke the opposite to what he feeling inside.

"I am, Father. Ready, that is," he lied."

"Then prove it. You have a week to do so," the King announced. "As of this moment, I will increase your responsibilities. I pass on all Royal Council duties … to you."

James' head shot up, aghast. "What? Father! That's … too much. I wouldn't know what to do," James said desperately.

"Exactly, James! I am forty-eight years old. In two years time—"

"I know, I know," James conceded.

"Do not interrupt the King! Mind you remember that when you are one yourself," Fredrick thundered, raising himself a fraction of this throne imposingly. Almost without meaning to, James took a small step backward. "James, there is no time to _gradually_ bestow these responsibilities on you," the King said.

_Who's fault is that?_ James thought angrily.

Fredrick continued, "It must be done quick and hard. In a week's time, whenever the Royal Council is to meet, it will be you sitting on this throne."

James winced, hating this speech more and more.

"I expect you to pay attention and regulate everything that is said, make decisions that will benefit Slytherin and most of all, uphold this family's honour."

The Prince sighed loudly and only barely reigned in his desire to burst out of the room. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Again, the room was quiet as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

"I spoke to your teacher today. Professor Tordell," his father began once more and James just knew what he was about to say. "He told me you were a disruption to the class … again."

"Father—"

"The class, he said, was about Slytherin's allies and political stances. Am I right?"

"Yes, Sir," he conceded softly.

The King's eyes held his son's, as if threatening him to look away. James quivered beneath his stare.

"Tell me, what were the two main reasons for my decision to abolish the treaty with Ravenclaw?"

The silence in the room was both tangible and vociferous in equal measure. The King's question went unanswered, as both of them knew it would. James lowered his eyes, unable to provide a response.

The King sighed and brought his hands up to his face, wiping at his eyes and shaking his head slightly.

"James …" he sighed.

"… Yes, my Lord?"

"Look me in the eyes," he ordered. James, hating every second, raised his head and once again was met with his father's knife-like glare. James felt it stabbing through his skull. For a brief moment, he wondered whether he could ever look at anyone with the same intensity.

"James, the Prince's Tournament is tomorrow," he stated with no emotion in his voice. "At least in _that_, make me somewhat proud."

James felt his will crumble and his heart deflate. A father's pride is a son's greatest treasure, and James had none of it granted to him.

Not for the first time did James loathe his royal station and wish nothing more than to escape it forever.

"Leave," was the King's simple yet callous command.

With that final word, James bowed slightly and left the imposing room.

-mp-

The King watched the doors close behind his son and exhaled long and loud. James wasn't ready to face his future yet, that much was evident. But there was no time for adjustment. As the only heir, he would need to accept his fate.

He broke the silence with a single word. "Tom?"

After a brief moment, a shadow emerged from behind a thick stone pillar behind the throne. "Yes, my Lord?" Tom Riddle responded, approaching to stand beside the King.

"You heard all that?"

"Every word, Sire," Riddle spoke passively.

"What say you?"

Riddle took his time to speak. "Your son is not like you, my lord. He is … different. I fear he does not care about our kingdom as much as he should."

Fredrick sighed. "What can I do? He is the only heir to the throne."

"Let me speak with him, my King. Perhaps I can … convince him to do what he must," Riddle spoke softly with a calculative voice and narrowed eyes.

"Yes," the King agreed with a tired nod. "Do that, and report back to me immediately."

"As you wish, my Lord," Riddle bowed low.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter:__ Riddle confronts James and gives him an ultimatum that will change his life forever. _


	4. Scrolls and Secrets

Chapter 3

**Scrolls and Secrets **

Night had fallen over the Empire, a ghostly near-full moon was pinned to the black sky. Its deathly pale luminance cast little light over the Black Castle, so that its large bricks took on a smooth inky appearance, like water suffocating beneath a layer of thick, black oil. Muted sounds from drunkards, whores and anyone else wretched enough to roaming the sleeping streets of Slytherin created a soft din that echoed quietly through the city. Gone was the buzz of activity of marketplaces under the midday sun; gone were the caravans and wagons that rolled along the busy cobbled streets; gone were the battle cries of those in military training at the barracks. Almost everyone was asleep once more.

However, the Prince, as he was wont to, remained awake. This time, he was in his own chambers in the tallest tower of the Castle.

He waited, still as a statue, until all but the guards on night duty had fallen asleep. Assured of as much privacy as he could get, James finally moved. He crept up to his closet and pulled out a worn tunic of his; the same tunic he was wearing a few nights ago. Reaching into the pockets, he found what he was looking for.

The scroll.

He sat near his window and by the light of the chilling moon, almost reverently unwrapped the mysterious scroll that was "one of the most important scrolls", or so he heard.

With bated breath, he began to read:

**The Year of the Founders**

_This marks the execution of Godric Gryffindor and successive victory of Salazar Slytherin at the battle of the Founders. Let it be known: a mighty power has fallen and the most evil of sins committed by Salazar. Alexander, stolen from the womb of his mother, will be raised as the sole heir of his father's greatest friend and enemy. Gryffindor is perished and its people will scatter._

_Hope, though feeble, remains in the Red Sword buried in the ground__ with unknowable power contained in it that surpasses steel and strength. With such power, Godric and his descendants are destined to either expulsion or retribution:_

"_I declare __a curse in this dark hour:_

_The Griffin, struck down and stripped of power._

_Mark my words, for he is slain,_

_Never again will my enemy reign,_

_Lest this Sword be retaken,_

_By the same blood, ever forsaken._

_It shall come to pass only then,_

_As the Snake and Griffin war again."_

_The heir of Slytherin and the heir of Gryffindor are one. Only he can retrieve the Sword and wield its unnatural power._

James froze.

Perhaps it was the mention of his own title as the heir of Slytherin.

Perhaps it was the shock that such a history could ever have existed.

Or perhaps it was that the name _Gryffindor_ trembled with familiarity.

Whatever it was, he could not move.

Minutes rushed passed before more than confusion filled his mind. By that time, he had read it enough to know it by heart. The words of the curse sat heavy in his heart.

When he began to think clearly, he realized that these words and this curse, though ancient and hidden, applied to him directly. He was, indeed, the heir of Slytherin. But for the first time since he could remember, he wondered of the possibility that it might not be true.

He knew very well of Salazar Slytherin, the Great Father of his kingdom. He had been taught of him since he was born. He grew up with the utmost respect for the name.

Casting his eye on the other name on the page, he muttered, "Godric Gryffindor", as if testing the words with his own lips. He could not remember ever hearing the name before by anyone, but for some unexplained reason, it sounded like something he simply _knew_ inside. Like an instinct buried so deep in him, it could only be uncovered if it were spoken aloud.

Next, James thought about the final name written on the scroll.

Alexander.

Frowning at the parchment, James deduced that this baby was the Gryffindor heir kidnapped at birth by Salazar to be raised as the heir of Slytherin. The last sentence of this baby's dual identity confirmed this conclusion.

Finally, the Prince turned his attention on the curse itself. James scrunched his eyebrows at this but read it for the umpteenth time. "The Griffin" obviously referred to Godric Gryffindor, which fit the story if Gryffindor was defeated.

But then there came the fragment about the Sword, which James understood was the "Red Sword" mentioned above, and it's mystical and great power.

_So, let me get this straight, _he thought wildly._ There is a Sword—the Red Sword—buried in the ground somewhere, which can only removed by the descendant of whoever fought with it._

James assumed that Godric Gryffindor wielded it.

_Which then means if _I'm_ the Heir of Slytherin (who is also the Heir of Gryffindor) … then _I'm_ supposed to retrieve this Sword?_

With a million thoughts flashing simultaneously through his mind, James forced himself to stop.

Silence filled the room and his mind crashed to a standstill.

Then he laughed.

"What rubbish!" he chuckled out loud. _I can't believe I spent all this time trying to figure it out! It's not even true!_

Now that he thought about it, he realized this whole scroll was most likely a hoax. There is no possible way any of this can be fact. He'd been taught Slytherin's history and founding since he was born. He knew the story of Salazar as well as his own:

_Once upon a time, Salazar Slytherin, the mighty Founder, gathered people who were loyal to him and established a kingdom. That was it. The end._

James frowned. Even _he_ had to admit that that the scroll's version of history was much more exciting.

-mp-

James would have yawned if it wasn't rude to, and he had just enough sensibility to keep himself from doing it. Still, he was enormously bored. His feeble opponent had little skill with the sword and was swinging it carelessly in no way that could be considered threatening. The blade might as well have been a wooden twig for all the good it was doing.

His opponent's name was Sir Quentin, second son of Lord Underhill, and he was painfully predictable. Dressed in his impressive shining armour with the yellow and burgundy crest of his father's house on his shield, he certainly _looked_ the part of a fearful warrior. Unfortunately, his swordsman abilities left something to be desired.

James, having had enough, decided to end their fight.

He blocked the pitiful knight's final parry of the day with his shield—trapping Quentin's arm—and thrust his silver weapon forward viciously from the right, cutting off any chance of a counter blow. Desperately, his opponent lifted his shield in defense, but was not prepared for James' punishing kick to his legs. Unprotected, the knight fell, dropping his sword. The tip of James' weapon hovered above his chest.

The crowd erupted.

Whistles, applause and shouts swept through the massive amphitheatre that was filled to the topmost layer of people. They were all cheering on their Prince, who so far had defeated every opponent that stood before him. Nothing less was expected, of course. But the excitement of a challenge drowned out expectations. All knights started on an even ground until, during battle, one by one they fell. James lowered his sword, dropped his shield and quickly pulled off his helmet. Wincing as the sunlight pierced his sensitive hazel eyes, he offered an arm to Sir Quentin, who gingerly took it.

"My Prince," he said wearily, "it was an honour."

James wished he could repeat the same sentiment, but he preferred not to lie. Quentin was hardly competition. Instead, James nodded, accepting the compliment and turned to face his father who was sitting beneath the shelter on the northern end of the stadium, at the head of the arena. He breathed a sigh a relief when he distantly noticed his father nod in approval in his direction.

_At least I'm doing something right_, he thought miserably.

The King then stood up and addressed the gathered hordes. "Citizens of Slytherin!" bellowed his deep, imposing voice. Then pointing to his son, he announced, "Your Prince!"

The roar of the crowd was raucous, and James smiled at their praise. He had hardly broken a sweat and defeated five separate opponents thus far. He knew he had two more before the end of the Prince's Tournament. Two more battles he would easily win, in his opinion.

The King motioned for the people to quiet down and slowly they did, until a hum of anticipation echoed in the arena, waiting to hear what the King would say.

"As you all know, my son is the heir to this throne," the King spoke. James winced, disliking this speech already. "One day, he will be Slytherin's King, as I was, as my father before me, and as his father before him. I have absolute faith our kingdom will be strong and protected in my son's hands. I could not pick a greater King," Fredrick said, belying his own words from the day before. James' thoughts whirled at his father's outright lie. The King continued, "This kingdom is my life and I know it is James' as well. I promise that we will all thrive when his time as King comes."

James could not have disagreed more.

-mp-

The Prince was in the armory, readying himself for the final two fights of the day. He was silent in thought, hating the words his father had spoken that afternoon. He couldn't believe his father's outrageous lie. Why would he do that? Why would he lie to the entire kingdom, and make them believe what they want to believe? If James knew anything about being King, it was that you must rule with honesty and integrity. It was not worth lying to the people in order to calm their minds about such a young king.

"James," Sirius spoke from behind him.

"Hello."

James heard a chuckle from his friend. "What utter bullocks."

His forehead creasing with slight amusement, James asked, "Excuse me?"

"_'This kingdom is my life and I know it is James' as well'_. Honestly! Does he know you at all? It sounded like complete dung to me," Sirius laughed.

James smiled and shrugged uselessly. "He's the King. He's supposed to say rubbish like that."

"But lie? To everyone?"

With a sigh, James sat down. "I know … that's what I've been trying to understand."

Sirius released a breath of his own and sat down next to his friend. Scrambling for an answer, "Maybe, he was just—"

"There is no _maybe_. You heard him, Sirius. How could he lie like that? We had a talk just yesterday about how _un_ready I am and there he goes telling everyone that I can't wait to rule." Silence. "Maybe, it's to make me _believe_ I am ready—"

"Nonsense. He just wants everyone to think they're alright."

"Yeah well … I don't know if I can do that. If that's what being King is about, then I can't do that. What's more, I _won't_ do that. The people of Slytherin should know about my hesitation to take up the throne, so they themselves can be ready for an uncertain future." James groaned and held his head in his arms. "What am I talking about? I don't even _want_ it! I don't want the throne, any more than I want to lie. I'm hardly prepared! All I can do is swing a sword around and chop people's heads off!"

"That's not true—" Sirius rebutted.

"My Prince," a voice said from the door.

Both boys turned at the sound and saw Tom Riddle standing, dressed sullenly in long black robes. The outside light from the midday sun shone from behind him, making his face impossible to see. He stood as a silhouette in the doorway.

"Riddle," James said, confused. What was he doing here?

Tom declined his head. "May I have a word in private?"

Sirius suddenly became rigid, not liking what he was implying. "Private?"

"Yes, Black. I would like to converse with the Prince alone."

Sirius looked questioningly at James. A tense moment passed in which both Sirius and Riddle were waiting for his decisions.

"It's fine, Sirius. I'll meet up with you right before the tournament starts up again."

Sirius' face fell, while Tom smirked. Maintaining his dignity, Sirius bid goodbye to his friend and walked out. James turned fully to Tom and asked, "What did you want?"

"Forgive my forwardness, my lord, but I overheard you telling Black that you didn't feel ready—"

James became defensive. "What I talk about with Sirius is none of your business, _Tom_," he said with a low voice.

"Of course, my lord, but … even you said … that everyone should know about your hesitation."

James held back his retort when he realized the truth in the statement. He motioned for Riddle to continue.

"I know your father expects a great deal from you," Riddle spoke.

James snorted, "My father _and_ the entire kingdom. Even you."

"No no, you overestimate me, my lord. I do not expect you to be a great King like your father." Riddle took a few steps closer to the young Prince. James sensed an ulterior motive in his tone.

"I don't understand."

"Try harder, young Prince, it isn't hard to comprehend what I am saying," Riddle patronized, altering the atmosphere in the room in an instant. The temperature dropped a few degrees as Riddle's idle chatter ceased. James shivered. "If you wanted sympathy and pity, you won't receive it from me. I refuse to stand here and quell your fears of becoming King, like your loyal dog, Black," Riddle said viciously.

"Restrain yourself, Riddle," James warned threateningly, adopting a voice fit for a royal. His father would approve. He pointed a warning finger at the dark man. "Do not speak of Sirius in that way—"

"You are not the King. I won't obey any orders you give me," Riddle replied smoothly.

"—As for me," James continued, ignoring the other man, "Do not presume to know me. I do not want pity from anyone, least of all you. Whether or not I am ready to be the King bears nothing on you—"

"Of course it does. The future of my kingdom rests in the hand of an unprepared, ignorant boy, who not only does not think himself ready, but who doubts his very claim to the throne!"

James' next retort shriveled on the edge of his lips. He stared at Riddle, who smirked sadistically.

_How does he know of my doubt?_

"What did you say?" James asked slowly.

Riddle inclined his head to side and gave a look of pity. "I am the Keeper of the Record Room, James. Did you think your little nighttime visits would go unnoticed by me?"

James glared at Riddle. He detested the man with every passing second. He felt betrayed. Someone had found his secret.

Riddle continued. "James, I am well aware that a scroll has been missing for a few nights now and it is currently resting in your left pocket"—James' breath hitch and he tried to stop his eyes from widening—"I know that you have read it, and I am convinced that you now think you are _not_ the Heir of Slytherin". Riddle remained quiet for a moment as his words hung suspended in the air, like fatal arrows ready to puncture the life out of James. He broke the heavy silence soon after. "Correct me if I am wrong."

James had underestimated Riddle, never taking any interest in him, and now he felt more vulnerable than ever before in his life. As if his innermost soul was exposed to Riddle. He realized then he knew nothing about the man standing opposite him. He also realized that he could not attempt to deny all that Riddle predicted. Instead he challenged, "Is it true?"

"That you are not the Heir of Slytherin? Yes. That you are, in fact, the Heir of an ancient, lost kingdom called Gryffindor? Yes. That Slytherin defeated your real ancestor? Yes. And that you, and your father, are living a lie?" He paused and smirked. "_Yes_."

James could do nothing but glare, trying to let all this new information sink inside his numb mind. Another question popped up. "How could you possibly know all this? Why should I trust you?"

"Do you believe I am lying?"

_No_, James thought. And that was the most terrifying thought of all: that he believed every word out of his mouth. This admission caused him to anger. He knew less than Riddle, therefore, he was at the mercy of the man. Knowledge is power, his father always said to him.

Taking James' silence as confirmation, Riddle then said, "And as for how I know all this … well, let's just say there are _very_ few people who know what I just told you."

"Who else knows?" James demanded. "Why has no one told me or my father?"

"There is only one other living soul who knows the truth. And neither you, nor your father, have met him before."

"Tell me his name," James commanded, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I think not. I rather like the idea that you know next to nothing," Riddle smirked.

"On the contrary, you just told me more that almost everyone on this earth knows …" James trailed off as a new thought occurred to him. He stared at Riddle cautiously. "_Why_ would you tell me?" James asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you tell me all this in the first place? What's in it for you?" James implored.

Riddle stared James in the eye with a knowing and malicious glare.

It was then James understood what his gaze meant and his eyes squinted as he stared at Riddle with new light. "You want Slytherin," he spoke as if revealing a mystery that had been hidden for centuries.

"Very astute, young Prince, I do indeed," he condescended.

"You want to rule over Slytherin, that's why you wanted me to know the truth about who I really am," James said. Making quick decisions in his mind, James retorted, "Well, you can't have it. This Empire does not belong to you."

"Neither does it belong to you." His reply was as smooth as silk but as pitiless as venom. "James, unlike you, I actually _want_ this kingdom—"

"But my father doesn't know any of this, Riddle. He believes he is the descendent of Slytherin, and unless you tell him the truth, you will never be given the Throne. Not while he is alive."

"Have you forgotten Slytherin traditions so quickly? Your father will not be King for much longer. He has two years remaining before he must abdicate—"

"—and then _I_ will take the throne. _N__o one knows_ but you and me. The truth remains hidden to all," James said.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Riddle spoke, although James noted a slight desperateness in his tone.

"What are you talking about? You have overlooked a hole in your plan," James replied soundly. He was convinced Riddle had met an end.

Until he heard: "What would it take for you to renounce your claim to the Throne?" Riddle seemed as devious as ever—all sense of distress vanished.

Startled at the question, James hesitated. After a moment, he answered, "nothing."

"Nothing? Bold claim, young Prince." James forced himself to not waver in his opinion. He marveled at how, in such a short time, Riddle had gained the higher ground. "Not even the death of your father?"

James sucked in a breath. The pair glared at each other in the silent room. Dust mites floated in the anticipating air between them.

"Are you blackmailing me?" James said, scrounging for every last ounce of courage and strength to keep what station he had left as the Prince, even when faced with the threat of his father's death.

"Yes," came the simple but terrifying answer. "In fact, let me make this more interesting. If you do not renounce your claim to the Throne publicly _right now_ in front of the crowd gathered outside, your father will be dead before sunrise tomorrow."

"You can't—"

"Yes I can," Riddle grinned. "Your father trusts me more than he trusts you. It would be very easy to invite him to a private dinner between the two of us. The hardest choice I will have to make will be _how_ to kill him. Poison in his goblet or a sharp dagger to the heart…"

"Enough!" James shouted. "How dare you, you rotten bastard. This is treason!"

Riddle's grin spread wider across his sullen face. Then he offered James an ultimatum, "I will spare your father's life, and allow him to rule for another two years, _if_ you relinquish your title as Crown Prince. My terms are simple, James."

James was livid at the incredulous turn his day had taken when Riddle stepped into the armory.

"I have another idea," James replied. "Why don't I just kill you right now?"

Quick as a fox, he grasped his sword out of his belt sheath and pointed it at Riddle's throat, nudging his Adam's apple. Riddle held still, but even staring down the silver length of James' renowned sword, he did not tremble. His voice, as steady as ever, replied, "It would be _very_ unwise if you did."

"And why is that?" James spat.

"Because there is something else you still do not know. Something crucial. To be honest, I can't believe you haven't asked me yet."

The tip of James' sword held still. With frustrated determination, he asked, "what is it?"

"Lower the sword, renounce your title, and then I will tell you."

James laughed, the sound carrying out into the otherwise empty room. "You have nothing to tell me. You're bluffing."

"Maybe," Riddle replied. "But you know everything else I've said so far is true. Why should I lie now?"

James sighed with impatience. "Just tell me what it is."

"I'll tell you only three words and that should be enough to postpone the fatal strike of your weapon." James listened intently as Riddle said very clearly, "_the Red Sword._"

Realization dawned on James and his facial relaxed from a sneer to uncertainty. _He had forgotten all about that._ If memory served him correctly, the Heir of Gryffindor is the only one who can retrieve and wield it and the great power contained within it. It was his destiny.

Desperate for one last rebuttal, James said, "There's no such thing as the Red Sword. It's a myth. I don't believe you."

"Yes you do. The Sword is very real. It is, as the scroll says, buried to the hilt in the ground at the site of the Great Battle."

"Where is it?" James couldn't help the quick words rushing from his mouth.

Riddle grinned. "Lower your weapon."

James paused for a moment and sneered in hatred at the black-cloaked man. "No," he said. "You can keep your Sword. I don't want or need it. All I want to do is kill you and this one in my hand will do just fine."

"If you give up the Sword, you give up everything," Riddle said. "Power beyond imagination; beyond the realm of this world."

"I don't want power. I just want you dead."

Riddle grinned in a way that made James' skin curl. "You can't kill me."

"Watch me," James growled.

Then, suddenly, James heard Riddle whisper something under his breath, but before he could try to understand what he said, the sword in his hand flew out of his grasp and ended up in Riddle's grip instead.

"Wha—!" James began, eyes wide and disbelieving, staring at Riddle like he was the devil himself. "What … what did you do?"

James watched as Riddle held his own sword against him, the tip of the blade inches from his heart. "I promised you power, James. Power you can't begin to understand. Renounced your title as Crown Prince and I will give you information about the Sword that will change your life."

James recalled the scroll dictating that the power in the Sword was unnatural and unknowable, and he was starting to wonder whether or not he had just witness a small bit of it, here in the this tent. For how else could his sword switch master so quickly? Devilry was afoot and James and suddenly terrified. Riddle was truly a real threat.

Riddle waited patiently for James to give his final answer. After a moment, James' shoulders slumped as he realized that it didn't matter if he didn't want the Sword's supernatural power. James couldn't possibly stop Riddle from blackmailing him into seizing the kingdom. Riddle had power beyond his ability and James was but a puppet in his hands. He would have to comply or lose not only his life, but also his father's.

As he stared at the man who wanted to take over his kingdom, James turned the options around in his head.

If he kept his title as Prince, both he and his father would die. If he renounced the claim, he would be given valuable information about the Sword, and his father would live. The choice was easy to make when his father's life was at stake. Despite the fact that he and his father rarely agreed on things, he could not stand by and watch him be murdered by the very man who he trusts explicitly.

With a heavy sigh, James turned to the detestable man in from of him. "Do I have your word, Riddle, that you will spare my father's life if I go out there and tell everyone that I surrender my claim to the Slytherin Throne?"

"My word," he agreed.

James raised his hand and ran it through his messy black hair. He was nervous with the situation. He had very little control.

"Alright then," he replied, defeated. "I'll do it."

James walked out of the armory and Riddle followed.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: James' life is completely upturned as he is forced to flee Slytherin_


	5. Treason

Chapter 4

**Treason**

The crowd exploded as their Prince entered the large arena. James winced, and it wasn't because of the harsh sun after being inside the armoury for so long, nor was it because of the ear-splitting volume of his audience.

He was in shock and his limbs weren't cooperating with his brain. He found himself having to drag his unresponsive feet to the centre of the dusty brown oval. The unsympathetic sun poured heat down his back, as sweat gleaned brightly on James' pale skin. His armour suddenly became heavier and James could have sworn he swayed with the effort of trying to stand upright. The hand that was grasping his helmet tightened, whitening his knuckles. With erratic breaths, he forced himself to straighten his spine and forget the penetrating heat, appearing dignified and _royal_—perhaps the last time he could do so. James was uncomfortably aware that once he renounced his title, he would be unwelcome in the Empire, even as a citizen, let alone their Prince. In the short time since Riddle had given his ultimatum, he found himself entertaining the idea fleeing the kingdom. He couldn't think of any other way to escape the disappointment of his father, and the disgusted shock of his people. Behind his impassive exterior, James' heart was laden with the weight of his impending announcement.

James finally took his place at the centre of the amphitheatre. The crowd quietened down as they waited with bated breath for the next fight to whet their insatiable appetite. James looked around at the hundreds of faces that regarded him with respect and admiration.

_Not for long_, James thought.

The faces staring at him all blurred into a colourful mosaic when his father began to speak.

James attempted to swallow the elephant that seemed to have lodged itself in his oesophagus.

"My people! We will continue today's Tournament with the Prince's sixth opponent: Sir Gaven, first son of Lord Kerry."

Bursting with excitement, the crowd roared terrifically again. Men raised their fists in cheer, and young boys watched their Prince with rapt attention, wanting to learn from the best. A handful of maidens in the front rows threw handkerchiefs and flowers in James' direction. Off to the side, Sir Gaven reached to fit his helmet on, preparing for a battle he was sure to lose.

_Now or never_, the voice in James' head whispered.

He took in a deep breath.

"WAIT!" shouted James as loud as he could. His cry had the desired effect. The arena hushed suddenly in surprise. James was startled to find that within seconds all was quiet and unmoving. He almost smirked as he thought of countless other time when tried—and failed—to get a group of soldiers' attention who were noisily chatting or arguing. Why is it that time, when his entire life was hinged on his next few words, did he manage to quiet everybody down? James was convinced that whatever deities existed were laughing at him, making it all too easy for him to make his next move.

A thousand pairs of startled eyes stared at him, including his father's. The prince swallowed again and he felt as if the sound was amplified ten-fold in the silent amphitheatre. James opened his mouth once more to speak, but found that his tongue was as dry as sand. The crowd looked an expectantly as the young royal struggled to declare his untimely decision. Saved from the embarrassment of not being able to speak, his father raised his voice and asked, "James, what is the meaning of this?"

Clearing his arid throat, James said, "The Tournament cannot continue, my lord."

"Why the devil not?"

"Because I—" James began, before his words fizzled on the tip of tongue. They tasted like acid. He drew in a large breath and curled his fingers into a fist tightly, hoping the pain of his fingernails digging into his palms would be enough to distract him. "Because I have no desire to be King," he said very clearly, holding eye contact with his father and blocking out the muted gasps from the onlookers and focusing on his father. James dearly wished he was having this conversation with only his father in the privacy of his study, but he was under Riddle's conditions, as much as he hated the very fact.

The King slowly rose in his seat, glaring at his son.

James didn't allow his father to speak before he elaborated, vanquishing any doubts of what he meant, "I am renouncing my claim as the heir to the Slytherin throne, and my title as Crown Prince." His voice wavered slightly. Making the mistake of taking his eyes off his father, he quickly glanced at the nameless faces in the crowd. They looked scandalised, mouths frozen open, eyes uncertain of what James was doing. It looked as if they all expected him to shout and say, 'Ha! Fooled you!' He wished he could. It could actually be a joke that he or Sirius would come up with. But this was most certainly not a laughing matter.

He shifted his sight back to his father and his gut clenched painfully. He looked so disappointed. His father's silence hurt him much more than his thunderous angered voice would.

James suddenly then noticed a black shadow behind the king's throne.

Riddle.

He was grinning maliciously.

That was the final straw for the prince. With tattered and bruised pride, James left the arena.

All the while, Riddle watched.

-mp-

The view before him was spectacular and still. Green rolling hills were draped lazily over each other, while sheets of dark green oak forests were blanketed over the grassy knolls. The horizon, where dark emerald met dusky blue, was slightly undefined and blurry—although that could have been due to the build-up of heavy tears in James' eyes that refused to fall.

Sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, and staring at the Slytherin countryside, James was alone.

Belying the black nature of the castle, the greenery surrounding the fortress was quite beautiful, and James would be the first to tell you. Since his childhood, James spent a vast amount of time in the open fields, when riding Asher, alongside Sirius atop his own horse. Several times, they attempted to cross the fields into the Forest beyond, testing the boundaries his father had placed when they were little.

"_Now boys_," his father always said to them time and time again, "_You are not allowed to go into the Forest when riding. Am I understood?_"

James and Sirius would dumbly nod.

"_You can go anywhere in the fields, but promise me you will not cross beyond the tree-line. You don't know what's in the Forest_."

"_We promise_," they would swear.

"_I mean it, boys. There are stories that an evil monster lurks among the trees, larger than any beast you know of. He lives by himself, and is always angry for naughty little boys_." James and Sirius would listen raptly, wide-eyed and naive. "_Have you ever noticed that the sky above the Forest is always dark? Have you noticed that the light of the sun never quite reaches there? It's because of the monster. He cursed the sun, forbidding it from shining there. He makes it go dark and cloudy, so unwary travellers will get lost without the light of day. And when they're all alone, he eats them with one swallow. He'll even eat young princes and nobles."_

Young and gullible, they believed every word out of his mouth.

Naturally, the two friends had flirted with the tree-line barrier many times. They had even ventured inside the Forest once or twice, but not far enough to lose their path. They always made sure they could find their way back. And there was a reason why. Because despite the absolute rubbish about the so-called 'evil monster', there was one element about his father's story that was undeniably true.

The sky above the Forest was always dark with clouds. No amount of sunlight had ever made the shadows disappear. James and Sirius never found out why, and never bothered to question it. It was just how things were.

Now, sitting on the damp grass, James watched the dark grey sky directly over the forest to the north of Slytherin and finally wondered why.

"James," he heard from behind him.

Turing around, James saw the handsome face of his dear friend. "Speak of the devil," he mumbled, wiping at the unshed tears. "I was just thinking about the 'evil monster'."

"Calling me a monster, are you?" Sirius smirked.

James smiled tiredly. "You know what I mean."

Sirius came to sit beside James. "That I do."

The two friends stared forward together, acknowledging the happenings of the afternoon, but not speaking of it. As James sat there, the heavy drops finally slipped past the edge of his lashes and landed on the apex of his bent knees. He wiped his moist, red eyes again and squinted at the view.

"Did this afternoon actually happen?" James asked thickly, numbed from the sadistic thoughts tumbling inside his mind. He didn't expect an answer to his question—he only wanted to break the silence.

Sirius opted to stay silent; knowing the question was rhetorical.

James went on: "You must be wondering why I said what I said." James snorted, "You and everybody else."

Sirius glanced sideways. "I'm not questioning your motives. I know you have good reason for doing what you did, James. Whether or not you want to tell me those reasons is entirely up to you," Sirius comforted.

"It just ... it just doesn't seem real. My life will never be the same as it was. I ... I don't know what to do," James confided, then sighed long and loud. The future mocked him, leaving him even more confused than he was. "I don't know how to face my father … or Riddle."

"It _was_ Riddle, wasn't it? I had a hunch. He made you say that in the arena." Sirius sighed. "I shouldn't have left you in the armoury with him," he regretted.

"No, no. Don't you dare try and blame any of this on you," James spoke.

"I could say the same thing to you," Sirius replied. "Look, I don't know the whole story, but I'd be willing to bet my sword arm that Riddle is the reason for everything that happened today."

James' heart filled with warmth at hearing his friend's undying loyalty and trust in him. He knew that despite what happened, he could rely completely on Sirius, and Sirius would never second-guess him.

For this reason, James told him everything: the discovery of the scroll, the existence of a lost kingdom called Gryffindor, his doubts of his lineage, the confrontation with Riddle, the confirmation of his fears, the ultimatum and finally his decision.

Sirius listened, as a brother and right-hand man should.

The sun had set by the time James reached the end of his account; the remnants of brilliant red sun staining the centre of the horizon. A flock of birds, silhouetted black in the sky, soared across the painted expanse. The patch of dark, angry clouds continued to hover over the Forest to the north, as it had since the dawn of time, cursing the otherwise beautiful picture.

James and Sirius stood up and stretched cramped legs, having made a fateful decision.

Tomorrow, they would act.

-mp-

James spent the night hidden in Sirius' father's house. He was sure he wouldn't be welcome in his own room in the castle anyway. He had, very succinctly, destroyed any hope of a successor king to their beloved kingdom. There was now no heir. With his single renouncement, the politics of Slytherin were thrown in turmoil. He didn't doubt that right now, his father, Riddle, Lord Malfoy and a host of others were debating with each other in the Throne Room concerning the future of Slytherin, while trying to decide on the best way to find and hold him accountable.

James thought,_ I'm as good as dead in the Black Castle._

Before first light, James and Sirius woke up and prepared. They dressed in dark tunics, buckled thick belts around their wastes and hung swords from their sheaths. James slipped a pair of smaller daggers in his boots, and strapped a shield to his back. Sirius reached for his bow and a quiver of arrows. Then, the pair walked to Sirius' stables. Sirius immediately went to his horse, Jordon. James, feeling disheartened that he would not be able to ride Asher, chose the strongest looking creature. The two friends saddled their steeds up, fitting a few smaller weapons, knives and serrated blades, on their horses' coverings. Before mounting his horse, Sirius grabbed a pouch full of gold coins and tucked it securely to his belt. As if they had rehearsed it, James and Sirius fitted a foot each into their stirrups and with one unified motion, swung their bodies onto the two horses.

"Ready?" James asked.

Sirius nodded.

"If you do this," James continued, "You can't turn back, you know."

Sirius smiled at his friend. "James, you think I want to stay? And do what? Become the Regional Director like my father?" He laughed. "James, we are brothers in every way except by blood. I go where you go. End of story." He offered a smiled.

"I just don't want you to regre—"

"I won't."

"Yes, but you won't ever—"

"I don't care."

"You don't know what your father—"

"James! Shut up and ride your blasted horse!"

James snapped his jaw shut. Who in their right mind could argue with that?

-mp-

Before James and Sirius could do anything else, there was one place they needed to visit first. As they reached their destination, James shivered and his stomach tightened in anticipation. Hating the anxiety that grasped onto his nerves and muscles, James slid off his horse, signalling for Sirius to stay mounted on his.

With a great breath, James raised his hand to knock loudly and rudely on the door in front of him. Despite the early hour, the door was opened.

And James stared at Riddle's sullen face.

"I did what you made me do. Now give me the information I want," James said sternly.

"Not even a 'hello'?" Riddle _tsk_ed.

"Don't waste my time. I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be, so just give me the information like you promised. Tell me about the Red Sword," James persisted.

Riddle smirked at him, his lips pulling at his corpse-like face unnaturally, but remained silent.

"Dammit, you rotten bastard, _tell me_!" James thundered, reaching for his sword.

"Alright alright, calm down," Riddle chuckled, infuriating James even more. "Now, the Red Sword … it is the heirloom of Godric Gryffindor, if you could call it that," he began. James listened fixedly, grasping the hilt of his weapon to his side, just in case. "The curse that Salazar inflicted remains in place today, and only Godric's descendants can remove it from the ground."

Impatient, James said, "This is information I already know. It is written in the scroll. What I'd like to know is what will happen to me if I remove it?"

Riddle smirked wider. His evil black eyes shone with malicious wickedness. "I do not know."

"What?" James asked incredulously. When Riddle didn't offer further explanation, James saw red. "Are you serious?"

"Quite."

"Do you know _anything_?" he mocked, anger firing his thoughts.

"I know that the Red Sword is among the most powerful objects in our world today, and also one of the very few remaining reminders of our origin. I know it was crafted in an age so unlike our own, that its very core is fused with something we have forgotten."

"And what is that?"

"Magic."

James blinked. "There's no such thing."

"And that is why I believe the Sword to be entirely dangerous: because we have forgotten the power of magic."

"Magic doesn't exist, Riddle!" He was convinced Riddle was just playing with him and he hated him more. Curling his fist around the hilt of his sword, he pulled it out and held it aloft at Riddle's face. James heard Sirius behind him slide off his horse and join him by his side, grasping his own sword. "You are a selfish, sadistic madman! You make me disclaim _everything_ that is my _life,_ offering precious information if I do … and now look at you! Do you find some sick _perverted_ pleasure at making me _suffer_? You want Slytherin! Fine! But did you have to ruin me and my family in the process?"

As calm as ever, he remarked, "You can choose to refuse this information if you want."

James wanted to pull out his hair. Better yet, he wanted to run his sword through Riddle's gut.

He was very near to, when Sirius spoke. "Where is it? The Sword?"

Riddle grinned. "Finally. A proper question."

"Well?" Sirius asked forcefully. James looked on with severe hatred, still holding his sword up.

"... It is a shame I won't answer it."

James was unsure if he had heard correctly, but upon seeing the evil grin the split Riddle's repulsive face, he knew that Riddle had been playing them the whole time. He was never going to tell them anything about the Sword, lest they used it against him.

Unable to describe the abhorrence he felt towards the man who had, in the space of one day, ruined everything in his life, James didn't stop to think before he lunged forward with his sword, thrusting toward Riddle's stomach.

What happened in the next few seconds was disorienting, to say the least.

James was more than shocked to find that his sword missed Riddle despite the fact that he was standing a mere two feet away from him. What was even more surprising was that Riddle had vanished. Looking around, he found him a metre or two to the left. James' eyes shot open in surprise. _He couldn't have moved that fast! He was right here!_

_ "_What...?" he breathed, hardly able to believe it, sure he was seeing Riddle's unnatural abilities play out again.

At that same instant, an old man from the neighbouring house exited his home to start the new day. Inevitably, he caught the tail end of the confrontation between James, Riddle and Sirius. The frail man saw James lunge his weapon right at Riddle, the King's most trusted consultant and right-hand man. Without pausing to assess the situation, the old neighbour jumped to conclusions and cried in a loud voice, "The betrayer! The betrayer is attacking Lord Riddle!"

James jumped back, both at Riddle's sudden vanishing and reappearing, and the neighbour's accusing label of '_betrayer'_. Had it really come to this?

Sirius swore under his breath. "James, we must leave now," he said hurriedly, eyes wide.

Bidden with fury, he lunged again at Riddle, who once again dodged the strike by disappearing and re-emerging a few feet to the left. James' eyes were wide with anger, shock and confusion.

"What—what are you, you _bastard_?" James demanded wildly, his mind unable to grapple with the idea that a man could simply vanish.

"Lord Riddle is under attack!" came the man's screams once again. Time seemed to speed up quickly for the boys. Every minute felt like a second. Slowly, other villagers were being roused from their sleeps. Sirius knew the patrolling guards would have been alerted.

"James! We need to go!" Sirius insisted. Caught in the conundrum they were in, Sirius did not know how much time they had before they were surrounded by soldiers, but didn't want to wait around to find out.

"NOT BEFORE I KILL HIM!" James cried, and moved to attack Riddle for a third unsuccessful time. With no other choice, Sirius was forced to pull his friend towards the horses. Nearby villagers were opening their doors in alarm at the noises outside.

"Forget him! You can't kill him, James!"

Tears started to stream down James' face at the hopelessness of the situation. He finally surrendered himself to his friend's please, trying to drown out Riddle's malicious laugh that echoed in his mind.

"Run away, little Prince!" Riddle taunted.

James tensed to run back at Riddle, but Sirius once again begged James to, "forget him!"

"And never come back!" The wicked man laughed.

They reached the horses and Sirius helped James up, ensuring he was secure before he swung unto Jordon. As they turned around to flee, they saw the patrolling guards approaching them, running with their swords pointing high. The two friends glanced at each other before holding their swords ready, the silver steels glinting in the newly risen sun.

"On my count!" shouted Sirius. "One! Two! THREE!"

And they charged forward.

They made a valiant picture.

Two riders, bent low over their steeds, dressed in black, their swords at the ready, racing full speed towards a dozen foot soldiers.

The clash between the two sides was loud. James and Sirius never slowed down as they forced a path through the small army, trampling a few soldiers beneath their horses' punishing hooves. Sirius' sword found its mark past a soldier's shield and into his bicep, forcing him to drop his sword. On the left, another victim fell at James' hand, as his sword sliced clean through his neck. In return, James received a stab to his left thigh. He released an agonising scream as the pain spread like wildfire through the rest of his limb and up into his body. He clutched at the bloody wound and saw his breeches transform into a brilliant scarlet.

"JAMES!" Sirius shouted, but had not time to do much else.

Within seconds, James and Sirius escaped out the other end of the fight, as the two horses continued to ride straight through.

Sirius glanced at his friend. "They'll be closing the main city gate soon! We need to hurry!"

With a renewed burst of speed, the duo charged through the streets of Slytherin. James felt his horse surge with the effort and heard the rapid _cl-clomp cl-clomp_ of the hooves on the paved roads. His leg throbbed every time his horse's feet struck the ground. He gritted his teeth and aimed to block out the pain. Sirius and he turned a corner and saw the city gates.

His eyes bulged.

_They were already half-closed!_

Shouts of "Close the gate!" and "Hurry up!" rang through the air as Sirius and James forced their steeds to increase their pace. The soldiers manning the entrance noticed their coming and moved faster. James knew it was going to be a close call, but he was confident they'd make it.

He shouted to Sirius, "You go first!"

Nodding once, he allowed James to drop behind a little so he could gain the lead. There would only be enough room for one horse through at a time.

Galloping at full speed, they were within twenty metres of the gate, and all the while it was closing. Bent as low as possible, James gripped the reigns harder and saw Sirius do the same in front of him, his dark hair flapping in the wind.

Ten metres.

"CLOSE THE GATE!" a soldier shouted.

_Come on, come on, _James urged, pressing his heels into the side of his horse. If not for the desperateness of the situation, James would actually be enjoying this. Riding with Sirius and getting into trouble was what they did best.

Five metres.

_Just a few more steps…_

The archers at the gate had their crossbows aimed at them.

But a moment later—

—they were free!

Like a burst of light, James and Sirius struck out of the city gate, leaving behind a troop of stunned soldiers, while the useless arrows of the bowmen landed harmlessly by their sides. Their aim had been terrible.

Without slowing down, they rode out into the lower city, then the outer fields, and then the Forest up north. Within a half hour, the Empire proper was behind them, and so were their entire lives.

There was no going back now.

-mp-

The King awoke to find a note stuck to his chamber window.

_Father,_

_I know you are disappointed with me. But trust me when I say that I have a reason for everything I said and did yesterday—a reason you won't begin to believe. _

_I never wanted to hurt you, but I am afraid that circumstances are forcing me to do just that. If I never see you again I want you to know that I love you, Father. I hope that one day you understand my reasons for leaving you and the kingdom._

_Your son,_

_James._

As soon as he finished reading, Tom Riddle entered the room and spent the next few minutes describing in detail to the King of how James, his son, died this morning trying to escape the Empire.

The King cried and mourned the loss of his son. But with his head buried in his palms, he never saw the fatal dagger held aloft in Riddle's hand.

Moments later, the guards standing duty outside of the King's chambers were stunned when they heard Riddle's terrorizing cry: "He's dead! The King is dead!"

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Angry, confused and filled with hatred toward Riddle, James and Sirius flee Slytherin to start their new lives._


	6. A Twisted Mind

Chapter 5

**A ****Twisted Mind**

"Her name is Llewellyn, in case you were wondering," Sirius said after a silence that had stretched on for hours. In that time, the sun had taken post in the centre of the clear cerulean sky, beating down upon the two riders and continuing its journey descending to the other end of the earth.

It was nearing nightfall, and James and Sirius were passing the last of the outlying farms of the Empire of Slytherin and entering what was known as the Nullius—an almost bare expanse of highland between the three regions of Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The single thread of the Nereus River sliced a shallow valley between two grassy elevations on either side, bisecting the Nullius.

Lonely tufts of trees that dotted the landscape, worn-out roads that were the principle trade routes between kingdoms, and a small collection of mossy, destroyed stones—the ruins of a Slytherin outpost—were all that decorated the empty countryside. Off to left was the Dark Forest that ringed Slytherin's north-western border, and above it in the sky, the ever-elusive murky clouds remained hovering.

James and Sirius had stopped only once since leaving the Empire, and that was to clean and patch up James' leg which had been stabbed in their final escape. Now the limb throbbed dully and remained almost useless in James' stirrup.

At Sirius' words, James started, shaken out of hours of listening to the numbing beat of horses' hooves thudding on the soft ground.

"Sorry?"

"Your horse," he elaborated. "Her name is Llewellyn. She and Jordon are my two favourites—I'm glad you chose her."

"Oh," was what James offered by way of a reply. He knew his friend was trying to make conversation, but his mind was elsewhere.

Sirius sighed, tired of the quiet. He hated to push his friend, preferring that James talked on his own time, but he was getting frustrated … and rather sore. His thighs were beginning to feel cramped in their position, his neck was tense, and needless to say, he could do with a bite to eat.

Unable to hold his mouth and frustration in check, Sirius said, "Are you planning on talking to me?"

James swivelled his head and looked at the other rider, startled. "What?"

"James," Sirius sighed. "I left Slytherin because you're my closest friend, and because I trust every decision you make." He paused, trying to consider how to word his thoughts. He ran a dirty hand through his shaggy black hair. "I can't read your mind, you know. But I do know you've got loads tucked up in there. So tell me. I want to listen."

James bit his lip thoughtfully and furrowed his eyebrows, considering what Sirius said. It was true, thought James, that his mind had been travelling a mile a minute. He had spent the first couple of hours of their ride forcing his poor horse to incredible speeds, trying to bury away some of the hatred he felt towards Riddle in the swiftness of their movement. It didn't work. His ears had still rung with rage and his blood boiled with abhorrence.

He also thought of what his father must be feeling right now; now that his son had left him. It hurt James that his father would probably never know why he pulled his radical stunt the previous day. And what's more, his father would never know that he himself has no allegiance or ties to the Slytherin monarchy. Trying to put himself in his father's shoes, James imagined the devastation his father must feel right now—a failure as both King and father. James' wrist tightened around the reigns as he thought of Riddle taking over the kingdom in less than two years time.

He gently pulled of his horse's reigns and Llewellyn came to a rest. Sirius, too, urged his horse to do likewise. He then looked at his friend expectantly.

He wasn't shocked to see James' eyes glistening.

Slowly shaking his head, James mumbled, "I don't know what do say or do anymore." He snorted. "I don't even know who I am. I was born as the Prince of Slytherin; I grew up as the King's son … and that's all I've ever known. But now, everything had turned on its head." He squinted his eyes into the harsh sun and let out a sharp, joyless laugh. "Turns out I'm not who I thought I was … neither is my father …" James trailed off, before continuing.

Sirius frowned and felt he had to interrupt here.

"There's more to you than just being the Prince of Slytherin," he said, coaxing a smile from his companion. "And besides! You're still a royal, you idiot! What with you being the heir of Gryffindor nonsense."

James smiled and wiped the remaining vestiges of wetness from his eyes. "Gryffindor nonsense? You don't believe it?"

"That you would be so cocky as to be the Heir of an ancient lost kingdom? Oh, I believe it alright."

Chuckling, James reached to shove his friend from his horse. "Cocky? Look who's talking, mister everybody-loves-me-and-I-know-it."

"The difference being that everyone has _reason_ to love me. Look at me! I'm stunningly attractive! Or have you not noticed the swarm of girls that follow me wherever I go? But you, my dear James..." he sighed dramatically, as if James' attractiveness was a lost cause. "Look at you! Lanky. Thin. Your hair is a _complete_ undecided mess. Boring brown eyes. Gangly—"

James couldn't help but laugh at the description Sirius was painting of someone that was not him. "Gangly? Thin? I'm bigger than you!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow and smirked, before calmly informing his friend, "James, size only matters when it comes to the more important things about a man." He grinned wickedly.

James threw his head back and laughed. "Trying to overcompensate for your shortcomings, are you?"

Sirius scowled, which only made James chortle harder.

When his brief merriment died down, James clicked the side of his mouth urging Llewellyn to trot slowly.

Sirius, following him, said, "My offer still stands, you know, if you want to talk to me."

James took a sideways look at Sirius and smiled at him, feeling deep warmth towards his friend. He then confided in him all his thoughts, particularly about his misery on leaving his father so suddenly and wallowing over what he must be thinking.

"You left the note, right?" Sirius asked a long time later, after James had finished recounting his thoughts.

"Yes, but it's nowhere near enough. The note doesn't even begin to say how sorry I am, or how much I appreciated the father he was to me—"

"But he _knows_ all this, James," Sirius emphasised. "He may have been a bit harsh with you sometimes but he loves you, and he knows that you love him."

James sighed miserably. "But he doesn't know anything about Gryffindor, and what his true identity it. He doesn't know that he's ruling over the very kingdom that his own ancestor hated …" James' voice trailed off as he suddenly realised something he didn't notice before.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, realising James' expression as one of confusion.

James looked at Sirius with a quizzical brow and launched a question at him. "Gryffindor and Slytherin were enemies, right?"

"Yeah..."

"And Riddle wants Slytherin for himself."

Sirius nodded. "Yes."

"So essentially," James said, speaking his thoughts to try and make sense of them, "Riddle just wants me and my father dead. Because once we're dead, Riddle gets his Throne and he can rule over Slytherin, just as he wanted."

"Yes…" Sirius said slowly.

"So then why didn't he just kill me and get it over and done with?" James asked.

Sirius blinked.

James went on, "And why did he tell me about the Red Sword in the first place? If _I'm_ the only one who can retrieve the Sword, break the curse, and continue the war Gryffindor and Slytherin started thousands of years ago, then _why on earth _would he give me valuable information that could potentially destroy Slytherin?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Sirius stared at him, confused. "Well ..." Sirius began, but then stopped, realising he had no answer.

"What does he possibly have to gain by telling me that I am Gryffindor's heir and that I have the possible power to kill him and destroy Slytherin?"

James turned to look at Sirius, as if the answer was written on his friend's forehead.

"Look," Sirius said, "I'm not claiming to know Riddle anymore than you do, but maybe ... maybe he's just a madman."

James snorted.

"No, really," Sirius continued, "Riddle has never struck me as a simple man. I doubt he is. He likes a challenge, which is why he's toying with you. He wants you to know everything about Gryffindor, to feel all these emotions, to ask all these questions, but ultimately, he wants you pick up the gauntlet he has placed in front of you and take the challenge. He wants to fight you and Gryffindor."

"Wait. So he told me _all_ this information because he wants to revive some ancient war and _then_ destroy Gryffindor?"

Sirius nodded and said, "It wouldn't satisfy Riddle to simply kill you and your father in your sleep. He wants a _full-scale_ war."

"So what if his evil brilliant plans fail and Gryffindor ends up destroying Slytherin in the end? Would he risk _everything_ for the chance to fight in a war?"

Sirius cocked his head to the side and thought of something new. "Wait a moment ... James, what if this is all just about the Red Sword?"

"What?"

"Riddle kept telling you that there was some form of great and mighty power in the Sword. What if _he_ wants that power? But the only way he can get the power, is if _you_ retrieve the Sword," Sirius explained, getting excited. "If that were the case, Riddle needs to keep you alive long enough to retrieve the Sword, so then _he_ can get the great power and _then_ destroy Gryffindor!"

James dipped his eyebrows into his forehead and expelled a large breath, looking around him. The scene around them was peaceful and still. The sun had almost disappeared entirely behind the western horizon, in the direction of Ravenclaw. A blue that was steadily becoming darker, stretched above them, and the moon was suspended in the middle, resembling a perfect ghostly white circle. Somewhere, miles and miles away, a wolf howled.

James turned back to his friend. "Sirius, have you stopped to consider that I don't actually _have_ a kingdom?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Gryffindor doesn't physically exist," James elaborated. "Does Riddle expect me to build a kingdom out of nothing?"

Sirius shrugged. "Yes?" he guessed.

A handful of seconds trickled by in silence.

"Well then I refuse to," James said simply, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. "I've gone along with everything Riddle has told me to do thus far, and look where it's gotten us! Stranded in the middle of the Nullius with nothing but our horses and the weapons we're carrying. Call me a rebel, call me stupid, but so help me I will _not_ do what he wants me to do again," James spoke with conviction as he tightened his hold on the reigns in his hand. Llewellyn softly neighed.

Sirius frowned. "So what _do_ you plan to do?"

He made a split-second decision. "Travel north-west. To Hufflepuff."

"Hufflepuff?" Sirius echoed in shock, it being the last place on earth he expected James to say.

"I'll figure out the rest when we get there," he said, nodding, not wanting to think too far into the future. "But for now, I suppose we ought to make camp. My leg is killing me."

-mp-

The wind rushed into their camp and the flames of the small fire shook at the intrusion. James shivered, rubbing his hands near the heat in front of him. Sirius, a few feet away, managed the small spit that held aloft a few strips of beef they had packed from Slytherin. The pleasant smell of the fresh meat wafted around them and James' stomach growled.

"Almost there," Sirius placated with a grin. "It has to be just right otherwise this whole thing will be for waste." He carefully turned the spit and his tongue peaked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, looking like quite the master chef.

James grinned. "Since when do you know how to cook?" he teased.

"I've always known. Just never had the use for it, did I? I can also make fresh bread and, if I can be so bold to say, a rather mean stew."

James' eyebrows shot up in shock and he started laughing. "'_A mean stew'_?" "Problem with that?" Sirius challenged.

"Not at all. It just sounds so… domestic," he opined, snorting.

Sirius huffed and sat up straight. "Mind you, I can also spar with a broadsword, shoot three arrows simultaneously, and ride my horse non-stop for an entire day… If that sounds more 'masculine' to you."

James laughed, eyes twinkling. He had never known of Sirius' culinary skills. And why would he? That's why they had servants. When his demeanour sobered, he asked, "So how did you learn to cook?"

Keeping his focus on the roasting meat, Sirius spoke, "I snuck down into the kitchens and had our servants teach me. It had to be in secret, you see, because my parents would have none of it."

James' smile slowly left his face as he realised something. Since they left Slytherin in their mad rush, not once had Sirius ever mentioned his parents or family. James felt horrible when he realised he hadn't asked his friend how _he_ was coping with the situation. It had been _James this_ and _James that_. He had forgotten that Sirius was going through the same thing he was. He, too, had left his family without saying goodbye, and was probably not going to go back.

Sirius noticed James' sudden mood change and questioned, "What's wrong?"

"I am," James answered with as sigh. After receiving a confused look from Sirius, he continued. "I just realised that I'm a terrible friend."

Sirius' eyebrows dipped in bewilderment. "I can assure you, you're not."

James offered him a small smile. "Since we left Slytherin, you've done nothing but help me. You've made me talk things out, untangle my thoughts, make me feel better, and be completely understanding of my position … and not once have I done the same to you. I am so sorry, Sirius."

The young man sat baffled before replying. "Look, I accept your apology but it was entirely unnecessary. I don't really care that I left home. I've had problems with my parents for years." Sirius smiled sadly. "You were always more of a family to me than the Blacks. So leaving them to go with you wasn't exactly hard for me, so rather than spend my time worrying about myself, I worry about you!"

"You don't need to."

Sirius smirked. "Well, it kind of comes with the job description."

James smiled.

"Now," Sirius voiced abruptly, "enough of that mushy business. Time to eat!"

Minutes later, they sat munching through the meal Sirius had prepared in silence, shivering slightly in the cool night air. By this time, the sun had completely deserted them.

"James," Sirius said after a long moment of quiet, drawing his attention away from the food.

James looked up.

"When you said that you refused to do what Riddle wanted you to do, did you mean that you're not going to fight him, or…"

"None of it," James replied succinctly. "I don't want any of it. I'm planning on forgetting Gryffindor ever existed." He paused for a long moment and stared at Sirius. "Right now, only three people alive know that Gryffindor exists, and two of them are sitting right here. No one else has to know. I'm sick of living in the spotlight, Sirius. I want to become a nobody, so that the citizens of Slytherin will forget me, and that everyone else will never know who I was."

"You'll never be able to get rid of it."

"I know," James admitted. "But I just want to forget it."

Sirius looked on thoughtfully.

"So please, could you do the same?" James asked. "Promise me you'll try to forget it too. Promise me you won't speak of it again."

Sirius pursed his lips and let out a deep breath. "Fine. But I'm not happy about this."

The corner of James' mouth lifted in an understanding half-smile. "I know."

-mp-

By the time James and Sirius had reached the outlying farms and silos of Hufflepuff, it was mid-afternoon.

They were tired, sore and sleepy from their relentless travelling since sunrise the day before. Conversation had wilted to a few words here and there between them. To be honest, they were quite bored from being in the same position for hours. The only interesting thing was the slight change in landscape as they exited the Nullius and entered Hufflepuff territory.

They left the rolling green fields, the Dark Forest and its troublesome cloudy smudge in the sky behind and travelled on to the small and modest region of Hufflepuff. James had set his sights on a warm bath and bed once they reached there, but he knew he shouldn't expect anything like what he was used to.

Slytherin and Hufflepuff were as different as birds and fish. For one thing, Hufflepuff, although called a Kingdom, did not have a monarchy, but rather a ruling body of select elders, chosen from each of the main hamlets spread out among their land. Instead of a castle, they housed what they called the Court Hall at the town centre, where the elders met and where celebrations, such as wedding and Christmas festivities, were held. The technology in Hufflepuff—whether the harvesting techniques or their weapons system—was far inferior to Slytherin's.

It was a simple kingdom, and very hospitable, which was why James had chosen to travel there.

As if to prove his point, an elderly farmer who was busy gathering crops from his field, noticed the two young riders and tipped his straw hat, and gave them a warm smile in a show of greeting.

James and Sirius smiled back, but pressed on, eager to rich the city gate and find somewhere to rest.

"Do you think anyone will recognise us? Well, _you_ mostly?" Sirius asked.

"Doubt it," James replied. "They may receive news of the happenings in Slytherin, but I don't think they've seen our faces."

Sirius relaxed a little and petted Jordon's thick neck as if to say _we're almost there, boy_.

Within minutes they were at the main gate of Hufflepuff, and the guard, upon seeing two handsome, yet weary, young men atop tired horses quickly ushered them in. After asking him for directions to the nearest inn—"Yeh'll want ter be tryin' Rosmerta's Tavern, just there ter yer left. Best place in town, I tell yeh. Folk go there after a hard day's work. Rosmerta'll fix yeh up a mean meal"— James and Sirius thanked him and followed in the direction of his pointing finger.

Tying Jordon and Llewellyn to a post outside of the tavern, they entered to noisy room and were immediately accosted by the smell of sweat, smoke, timber and alcohol. The tiny bar was packed with men of all ages—from early manhood to those ready for their deathbeds—but all had the brown, dusty look of honest labourers here to enjoy a quick drink with friends before retiring to their homes. Stories were told, jokes were laughed at and complaints were listened to among these people, the noise being so loud that no one even noticed when James and Sirius walked in.

The gatekeeper wasn't wrong when he labelled Rosmerta's Tavern as the most popular place in town. It seemed as if all of Hufflepuff was crammed in here. Sharing an amused look, they quickly located the counter and pushed through the claustrophobic room. Mutters of "sorry" and "excuse me" escaped their lips numerous times by the time they reached the front.

"Are you Rosmerta?" James shouted over thew din to an attractive woman behind the bar. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties, with wild, blonde hair sitting on her warm face, held back by a chequered bandana. She was towelling dry a cup with a worn rag. She looked up at James when she heard his question.

"Who's askin'?"

"My friend, Sirius, and I have just arrived here. We ask for a warm meal and a couple of beds, if you can spare them," James requested politely.

Rosmerta looked very amused at the young traveller. "First time here, eh?"

Startled, James nodded.

"I can tell," she chuckled. "The new ones are always so polite." Then, turning so everyone could here, she shouted, "Not like this rabble here!" A loud roar of laughter met her quip. It seemed they were all good friends. "Yes, o'course, I've got a room for you, Mr…?"

"Potter," James replied, feeling weird using his last name. He hardly ever did. He had come to accept his name as Crown Prince James, forgetting sometimes that he even had a family name.

"Wonderful," she smiled broadly, so that two white rows of teeth flashed back at James. "I'll just get someone to lead you upstairs so you can dump your bags. Then come right back down to eat," she said. "Now, where is he…"she mumbled to herself, craning her neck, trying to find someone. "Ah, there he is. Remus! Remus!" She waved her hand over the mass of people around her.

After a brief few seconds, a boy, who James guessed was Remus, came into view.

"Hello. Name's Remus Lupin," he introduced himself with an awkward smile, wiping his wet hands on the apron tied around his waist. "How can I help?"

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Life in Hufflepuff continues as James and Sirius make some new acquaintances ... one of whose name is Peter Pettigrew. _


	7. Hufflepuff

Chapter 6

**Hufflepuff**

"Take these young men up to one of the spare rooms for me, would you, dear?" Rosmerta asked of Remus, before busying herself with preparing jugs of beer and ale for her hungry guests.

Remus nodded and turned to look at James and Sirius. James realised he was about their age and height, dirty light brown hair, with frayed clothes hanging off his scrawny frame. James also noticed the scars on his face and arms—some of which looked recent. But even still, the boy looked friendly and warm-hearted. He greeted the two newcomers with a smile that reached his chocolate eyes, even though he was aware they were staring at his injuries.

Sirius moved first and offered a hand. "Sirius Black. A pleasure to meet you," he greeted in return. James too piped in with a greeting and introduced himself.

"Welcome to the Tavern. Let's get you settled first upstairs. You better follow me. Stay close or you may get lost in this crowd," Remus said after a few seconds of silence, ducking his head. "This way."

Remus led Sirius and James to a narrow wooden staircase nearby that seemed to disappear up into darkness. The two friends shared a look at how unstable it looked. James was sure that if the noise wasn't as loud as it currently was he would be able to feel the stairs creaking with the strain. With his bag slung over one shoulder he followed their guide up.

Upstairs, the sound level dropped incredibly, until all they could hear was a faint murmur of the customers below them. James was relieved to find he could hear himself think again. In front of them stretched a narrow corridor, peppered with wooden doors on its sides.

They began walking down the hallway when James realised it wasn't as silent as he thought it was. He could hear some rustling somewhere nearby, as well as a faint knocking sound. James dismissed it as a small animal making a mess in one of the room, when he noticed Remus' cheeks flood with a pink hue. Remus slowed his pace, before pausing hesitantly. Sirius and James stopped to and looked to Remus.

"Er..." Remus winced, keeping his eyes lowered. "Sorry about this."

James was about to ask him why before he heard a sound that he could definitely distinguish.

A woman moaning.

And she didn't sound like she was in pain, either.

James' eyebrows shot up and he couldn't help but snort. Sirius, he saw, was biting the insides of his cheeks, trying hard not to laugh. Remus, still beet red, wiped his face with his hand.

"Sorry … I didn't know … " he apologized again, hiding a chuckle.

Sirius held a hand over his mouth which seemed as if were about to explode with giggles. "Not to worry, mate," he managed to say, patting Remus' shoulder. Remus shuddered slightly at the touch and winced a little. Sirius noticed and hastily pulled his hand away.

Resuming their walk to their room, the three boys tip-toed past the room that was currently in use, trying to be as quiet as possible, but also trying to ignore the sounds emanating from their right. Remus with his head bowed, and James and Sirius with their eyes glistening with laughter, continued on well past the occupied room before Remus stopped.

"Ok, so, you two can have this room here. Two beds, bathroom, window facing the sunrise, and far away from other … residents here," Remus explained, exhaling loudly to expel his embarrassment. The smirk that had been hiding creaked out at his euphemism.

"I'm sure it's fine," Sirius grinned broadly, clearly enjoying the discomfort. "Thanks."

Opting to change the topic, Remus seemed to survey their appearance, his eyes stopping briefly on their weapons belts and respective swords, before stating, "I've never seen either of you here before. Where are you from?"

Sirius cast a look at James, hoping he'd answer. James did. "Slytherin." Remus' eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. "But we sort of ran away. Our presence was no longer needed there," was all he said, hoping it was enough to quell the other boy's interest.

Remus wisely chose not to comment on that. He changed tack. "So is this your first time here?"

"Yeah," Sirius nodded.

"Well, I'm afraid it doesn't really hold a candle to Slytherin, not that I've ever been there. I hope you enjoy your stay, even though your experiences here so far haven't been ... too pleasant," he smiled shyly in amusement, jerking his chin in the general direction of the noisy, occupied room down the hall.

"Perhaps, but it's been amusing nonetheless", Sirius joked, earning a laugh from his two companions.

"Anyway, I'll let you unpack, then come back down for supper. Hopefully, the bar'll be cleared up by then," Remus advised amiably.

"Thanks again," James expressed.

With a nod, Remus turned and walked back to the stairs, passing the noisy room on his way.

Once alone, James and Sirius looked at each other and, like a water dam suddenly bursting, they laughed out loud. There was nothing quite like ill-timed nocturnal activities that lightened the mood.

-mp-

Twenty minutes later, having unpacked their minimal belongings and tried to make themselves look somewhat decent, James and Sirius descended the stairs in search of food. The bar was still full but James could tell a few had already left. He spotted Rosmerta behind the counter, happily pouring some drinks. He cast his eyes in an attempt to find an empty table when a cry of, "Over here!" saved him the trouble.

The two looked and saw Remus waving his hands, motioning that he had a table for them. Smiling in relief and thanks, they made their way over to the other boy.

"Uh. Sorry about before," Remus mumbles once they were seated. "I realise it was ... a little awkward, and probably not the best first impression you can have of this place." He blushed red.

Sirius snorted a laugh while he grabbed a menu thrown on their table. "On the contrary, I am tremendously intrigued by the intricacies of Huffelpuff society. Is it always so ... loud?"

James barked a laugh and Remus bloomed into a deep pink and fought to keep the smile off his face. "Not really," he answered. "I'm just glad you're not too disturbed."

"Not at all," Sirius replied genially. "Now, what's good here," he said, perusing the menu.

"Rosmerta makes a really good roast beef with potatoes," Remus offered, "if you like that sort of thing."

Half an hour later, the three young men had stuffed themselves full of the delicious and hot meal. Their conversation had not ceased at all during the time and Sirius and James took a good liking to the newcomer. Remus, who first looked rather shy and embarrassed around them, was soon laughing easily along with them as he heard stories of their childhood—of course, without any family details. When Remus asked about their families, they quietened down and again reminded him that they had run away from Slytherin and their families. James could tell he wanted to know more, but he thought it too soon to tell anyone.

By the time their conversation wound down, James was nursing a glass of beer, enjoying the lax attitude of the atmosphere. He was snapped out of his calm when their table was rudely bumped and some of the amber liquid was jostled and spilt out of the glass and all over his hand.

"Oi!" he exclaimed, looking around to see who had knocked over their table. He saw a short lump of a boy, maybe a year or two younger than he, looking in fear at his accidental bump.

"Sorry!" the boy squeaked. "Didn't mean to."

James frowned, but said, "That's fine. Just be careful next time, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course," the boy said, his small eyes wide and alert.

Remus gave the intruder a curious look. "You're new here as well, aren't you?" he observed. "I haven't seen you around. Did you need help with anything?" Remus asked, ready to help out another newcomer to the Tavern.

"N-no, I'm fine," the boy said, looking like a frightened mouse. "Bye!" he yelped suddenly and scuttled off, out of sight.

"Strange," Remus muttered, "wonder who he was."

Sirius shrugged, obviously not caring at all, while James found a napkin to clean his soiled hand. When he noticed Sirius let out a rudely loud yawn, James inquired, "Do you know what the time is?"

"I'd say it's about ten in the evening," Remus remarked casually, looking about the near deserted restaurant.

"Ten? Blimy! Look at us, talking for hours like a bunch of girls," Sirius jumped.

"I didn't really notice the time go by," said James, "but look out the window, Remus must be right. The sky's black and the moon is up high."

Sirius felt, more than saw, Remus shudder, as he pointedly did not look out the said window.

"Well, I better get going," Remus mumbled abruptly. "I'm supposed to be working here and I haven't done a single thing tonight. Rosmerta'll kill me," he said hastily, standing up and glancing around the handful of patrons remaining in the Tavern.

"I highly doubt your life is in danger," James joked tiredly.

Remus half-smiled, making small dimples in his lower cheeks. "Be that as it may, I better go. It was nice meeting you two. Sleep well," he bid finally, before ambling away from them meandering through the tables and chairs.

Sirius let out a breath of air. "Nice bloke," he opined, watching Remus walk away.

Yawning, James said, "Yeah … so far Hufflepuff hasn't been that bad, eh?"

"Nah," Sirius agreed, catching James' yawn and allowing it to split his mouth wide open. "And with the promise of a warm bed, as opposed to cold hard dirt, it just became a hundred times better," Sirius said.

James smiled. "Come on then, let's get some rest. We're running on very little energy," he suggested, stretching his arms upwards and enjoying the slight crack of his worn-out shoulders.

Once they were upstairs and settled comfortably in their beds, Sirius asked into the silent and dark room, "James?"

"Mmhmm," James hummed back, already half asleep.

"What's the plan?"

James shifted uneasily. "What do you mean?"

"We got to Hufflepuff alright. But we can't stay in this tavern forever. So what's the plan? You know, for tomorrow? And the day after that?"

James sighed and forced his eyes open to stare up at nothing. "I dunno. The only other plan I had was to just start all over again; start a new life. But, to be honest, I'm scared just thinking about it," he admitted softly.

"Yeah," Sirius breathed, evidently not knowing what else to say.

Suddenly, the enormity of the task ahead of them hit James. They were alone, without possession or housing, in a foreign land and far, far away from anything they had ever known before. James had no idea how they would even begin facing the future. Minutes crawled by and neither said anything though both knew the other was wide-awake. The tension and stress of the implications of what was being unsaid was almost tangible.

Finally, unable to stand the unspoken pressure, James said sternly, "Get to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow," because that was all he could offer.

-mp-

Tomorrow turned into weeks. And weeks turned into months.

Over five fortnights after James and Sirius first entered Hufflepuff, they had all gathered together at Rosmerta's Tavern to celebrate Remus' seventeenth birthday. The bar was as packed as always, crowded and smoky and almost claustrophobic. The loud and boisterous sounds of general merriment enveloped the room, with James and Sirius right in the middle, standing on a sturdy wooden table—holding tightly onto a reluctant Remus, who looked desperate to be anywhere else.

"Not tonight, mate," Sirius laughed, holding Remus' right arm tightly. "Tonight, you're the centre of attention!" Mugs were raised to acknowledge the hesitant young man's anniversary and shouts of "Happy Birthday!" rang out.

A small band situated in one crowded corner played jovial country tunes, while pairs of dancers shuffled alongside them. Most of the people, already somewhat tipsy, were stationed around a centre table, on which the three boys stood, watching them as they entertained. James and Sirius, armed with half-full mugs of their own, laughed and danced, and trying to sing the lyrics to the song being played. They, of course, had no knowledge of country-style tunes such as these, so one would often hear Sirius booming out his own rendition of some of the classics. James, whose feet coordination left nothing to be desired, tripped over his own legs at times as he tried to dance along with the beat. The song soon ended with roars of laughter at Sirius' grand finale of shouting, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, REMUS LUPIN!" as loud as possible.

Remus, sporting a small smile at Sirius' antics, looked around for a way down and out of the spotlight. The people around the table, however, formed a sort of barrier that forced him to stay on top. James, noticing Remus' escape hopes, grabbed his arm. "Remus! It's your special day!" he shouted at the boy less than a foot away from him, his beer sloshing around dangerously. "I know you want to get off this table, but stick around, mate. It's for you!"

"Yeah, Lupin!" Sirius yelled from close-by, "We wouldn't even be holding this party if we knew you couldn't handle it."

It was a testimony of how close the three boys had grown to each other in eleven weeks when Remus visibly relaxed at James' and Sirius' words of comfort. They had only known each other for that short time, but it felt as if they had always been friends. Their friendship didn't seem to start at any sort of 'beginning', but rather a continuation from a past life they never shared. James and Sirius embraced him as a brother, as Remus had taken it upon himself to make their life in Hufflepuff easy.

James and Sirius still hadn't told Remus the entire truth about their hasty departure from Slytherin, but James could tell that he was slowly beginning to piece snippets of information together. Often, Sirius would plead with James to tell Remus the truth, but James, ever cautious about his past life resurfacing, had forbidden it. He himself did not want to relive any memories regarding his late father.

James paused as he remembered the day he received the news of his father's death. It was nine weeks ago to the day, when James saw the messenger rider into town, galloping post-haste on his horse. The determined look on the messenger's face had struck a nerve with James, and he knew the news was bad. Following him to the centre of the main town, he had noticed the messenger post a piece of parchment on the noticeboard just outside the Town Centre. As if in a trance, James approached the board, slowing his steps. He could read it all before he was close.

_The King of the Empire dead! Lord Thomas Riddle has taken the Slytherin Throne._

Time had ceased. James had heard his heart beat throbbing unnaturally loud in his ears. He had felt his arms go numb, and his eyes freeze on the word _dead_. Unable to digest the implication of what that word meant, he had stood still for a full minute before Sirius joined his side. Whether Sirius had spoken, he couldn't remember. All that crossed his mind was an image of his father lying deathly still, ghostly in a solid mahogany casket.

The compulsion to rip the parchment off the board spread through him like a furious fire. He shoved his way through the throng of villagers standing around, reaching for the parchment hung up on the board. He grabbed the paper with hatred that he couldn't quite describe. Sirius had tried to grab him, but he possessed a strength that was not his own. Gritting his teeth, he tore the paper in halves, loathing, hating, suffering.

As if Riddle hadn't tortured him enough already, he had to kill his father too.

If Remus had any question regarding James' actions that day he never voiced them.

It had taken two weeks for James to accept and deal with his father's death. What hurt the most was never being able to apologise or explain to his father the reason he had fled. Every time he thought of his father, his gut clenched painfully. Several times he was ready to march back into Slytherin and set eyes on his dead father's face just once more, but Sirius always knocked some sense into him.

Being so far away from Slytherin, he didn't feel the effects of the Empire being ruled by Riddle, but it was almost as if he could sense Riddle's glee at his premature victory of usurping the Slytherin Throne. James' abhorrence toward Riddle never died down. But as tempted as he was to go a kill Riddle right that very instant, he knew that that was exactly what Riddle wanted—a fight.

So he remained in Hufflepuff and life had continued on. He and Sirius had scouted the area for a place to stay and found a house on the far northern corner of town called Godric's Hollow. James, harbouring a curious fascination for the name of the house, insisted upon them buying it. It hadn't escaped James' notice that the name 'Godric' was common both to the name of the house, and to the ancient founder of the lost kingdom Gryffindor. Though, vowing not to think of it again, James pushed it from his mind.

Godric's Hollow was a blessed relief from every past memory that still haunted him. The house was in need of a paint job; the previous white colouring had mostly chipped off, and the garden around the front porch was desperately in need of care.

That had been a month and a half ago. Now, with the Hollow repaired and with their life back on track, James and Sirius found themselves back at the place where their lives in Hufflepuff began—Rosmerta's Tavern, drinking beer and celebrating with people they had come to call friends. Alongside Remus, who had become almost like a brother to them, James and Sirius had made other acquaintances, one of which was the terrified boy who had once bumped their table and made James spill beer all over his hands. His name, they came to find out, was Peter Pettigrew, and even after knowing him for a few weeks, the boy always seemed to be perpetually skittish, as if he was constantly hounded by some invisible foe. James, Sirius and Remus, had tried to get him to relax countless times, but he never would.

Remus' birthday party was nearing an end, as guests began to file out sleepy and drunk. James, Sirius and Remus, ready to collapse from exhaustion, remained sitting at one of the benches, while Peter hovered nearby, ever alert and anxious. Remus occasionally said thank you to the passer-by who wished him to have a happy birthday and long fulfilling life.

Under the influence of too much alcohol, James turned to his friend and spoke up, "Remus, you need a lady friend, eh? Wouldn't you agree?"

Remus flushed pink at the sudden suggestion, and chose to ignore James.

"No, I'm serious, Lupin. Find yourself a girl!" James offered by way of advice, slapping him hard on the back so that the glass of alcohol in his other hand spilt. He quickly righted his arm.

"James, I don't need a girl," he mumbled back.

"Why ever not?" James asked, incredulous, looking at Sirius and finding, to his astonishment, that he too was sporting a deep pink blush. Their twin looks of embarrassment left James flummoxed. "Why are you looking like that? All pink like. It's not like I suggested the two of _you_ should shack up!" James roared with laughter at his joke, missing Remus' and Sirius' shared look.

Desperate to change the topic, Sirius replied, "What about you, James?"

"What about me?"

"Where's your girl?"

James, as if only just noticing the hypocrisy of his previous statement, smirked, "You just wait and see. I'm gonna have ... the prettiest girl in town!"

"Oh yeah? Who?" Sirius asked. Remus, who had gotten over his blush, watched intently, while Peter leaned in to have a listen as well.

James answered, "You'll see," unsure, himself, who his mystery girl was. He vowed to start girl-hunting tomorrow. There were bound to be at least some Hufflepuff beauties around.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: James has his work cut out for him when a certain red-headed female rejects his advances._


	8. Courting Lily

Chapter 7

**Courting Lily**

Green, James decided, was his favourite colour.

The thought never crossed his mind that perhaps this decision was a hasty one, given that the only reason he would ever proclaim such a statement, was due to a fleeting moment in time, in which James Potter first laid his eyes on Lily Evans'.

It was a week ago that this colossal moment occurred, and James had not shut up about it since.

"She's beautiful! I mean, did you look at her eyes? As green as the shimmering grass covered with dew on an early morning in spring! I could stare into her eyes for eternity. And her smile! Sirius, did you see—"

Sirius promptly slapped his friend.

"Oi!" James protested

"If I hear one more word about Lily Evan's green eyes, I will run you through with your own sword," Sirius threatened. Remus, who was standing nearby, chuckled.

"But she's perfect!" swooned a love-struck James, his eyes rolling skyward.

Sirius sighed and observed the lost case that was his friend. He really was sick and tired of James' constant praise and adoration of Lily and her legendary eyes, and wished the two had never met.

Though, considering the nature of their first meeting, he could not imagine why James was so obsessed with her. It was universally known that she held no fancy to him.

-mp-

_ [One week earlier]_

The four friends were perched on a large boulder that overlooked a lake on the northern edge of town. The sun and clouds illuminated the sky above while reeds and water lilies infested the scene below.

Sirius broke the calm and still lake by promptly throwing a small rock right at a small green frog that hopped across the large leaves in the water. Startled, the green animal jumped. James, Remus and Peter laughed.

"I'd give that a three," James judged merrily.

"Three?" Sirius echoed incredulously, looking affronted.

"Well, you didn't actually hit the thing!" James explained.

Huffing, Sirius conceded, handing a rock to James, whose turn it was.

They waited for a new frog to enter the scene, and when one did, James reached his arm back and accurately threw the rock. It slammed into a lily pad, but missed the frog.

"Five," Remus called.

They went on, marking each throw of a rock out of ten based on the reaction of the animal they were aiming at.

"Three."

"Seven! Oh, close one!"

"Two."

"Two."

The game continued.

Then suddenly, James yelled, his voice unusually much higher, "Ten!"

Peter paused mid throw. The rock hadn't even left his hand yet. "But I haven't—"

"Shoosh!" James admonished them immediately, his eyes frozen on a spot on the far side of the lake. Turning their heads, the other three boys saw the cause of James' exclamation.

In the distance, across the lake, was a girl sitting on the opposite shore, her head down, obviously deep in thought. She moved a quill elegantly across a piece of brown parchment on her lap, writing something. Her hair was a dark red, but that was about all they could make out of her appearance, she was too far away oltherwise.

"It's just a girl, James," Sirius said.

"_'Just a girl'_? Look at her! She's an angel!"

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look of mild amusement.

"Is that so?" Remus asked wryly, toying with James.

Nodding fiercely, James stood up and took a step forward, wanting to get nearer to the girl. However, he seemed to have forgotten that the expanse that separated them was not something that one could normally walk on.

Before any of the three others could grab him—

_ Splash!_

—he fell into the lake.

Sputtering and splashing, James cried out in shock, diverting attention directly to him. The girl, he was happy to notice, stared right at him. Under the scrutiny of the beautiful angel, he tried to look dashing and heroic, attempting to stand up and giving his best smile. But he slipped on a mossy rock, dropping down again.

Sirius fell back laughing and clutching his stomach, and Peter let out a near-quiet chuckle. Remus, meanwhile, extended a hand to James, offering to pull him out.

James ignored the hand and called out to the girl who was still watching him, "It's alright! I'm fine!" James yelled across the lake in an effort to save his dignity. She stared back at him, but made no other noticeable motion of acknowledgment.

"James," Remus advised, "grab my hand before you make yourself look like even more of a fool."

He did and Remus pulled him out, all wet and cold. James didn't seem to notice his state and promptly said, "I have to go speak with her."

Unable to stop his determined stride, Remus, Sirius and Peter followed their friend around the lake. Finally, they approached her. She remained sitting down and writing. It seemed she hadn't even noticed their arrival.

James coughed and said, "Good afternoon."

Sirius distinctly noticed that his voice was much lower than normal. He scrunched his eyebrows in bemusement.

"Hullo," the girl replied in a soft, carefree voice, after a few seconds of silence. It was right about then when her eyes left the parchment in her lap and glanced up at James for the first time. Their gazes locked.

James, as if struck by a spasm, convulsed a little, and then froze up. His throat seemed lodged, preventing the 'how do you do?' from escaping. He could concentrate on nothing but the pair of luminous emerald gems that were glinting out at him. An expression of adoration crossed his face, and it took a few seconds for sense to return to his mind.

When it did, he uttered, "You… are a very beautiful girl," with his eyes locked on hers. He didn't even think twice about the boldness of his declaration.

She, at least, had the grace to look grateful. "Thank you," she said, a lovely pink blush blooming in her cheeks.

Sirius rolled his eyes, and jumped into the conversation before James could make another stupid statement.

"Uh, excuse him, milady," he apologised. "My friend here has been struck by a terrible disease," he announced knowingly, sounding as if he had the knowledge of a physician, when James knew that he very well didn't. James opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius slapped his hand over his friend's lips. "This disease causes the victim to fall in love with the first person he sees of the opposite sex."

Remus' eyebrows lifted high into his forehead, while Peter just stared at Sirius.

Grappling with Sirius' hand, James released it and said hotly, "Sirius! What on earth are you saying?"

The girl stared at them with unamused confusion. "And I suppose I'm the first girl he's seen," she stated flatly.

"No—" James started.

"_Yes_," Sirius interrupted.

The girl's eyebrows scrunched. "And when did he contract this disease?" she asked in a voice that clearly depicted her scepticism.

James rounded on Sirius with an outraged glare and hissed, "Yes, dear Sirius, when _exactly_ did I contract this disease?"

Sirius glanced between them. "Er ..." he floundered "... two minutes ago?"

Remus snorted in laughter.

James rolled his eyes turned back to the girl. "Look, please don't believe a word Sirius just said. He's lying; I'm fine." Then he grinned at her broadly, in what he was certain was an attractive manner and continued, "But, of course, I don't need tell you that. You, beautiful lady, look intelligent enough to have figured that out already … you know, for a girl …" he said, in what he thought was a very kind manner.

The red-haired girl looked appalled and her mouth dropped. "'_For a girl!_'" she repeated, affronted and angry.

James looked at her, confused. Why was she angry? "What?" he said, shrugging his shoulders while beside him, Remus sighed and shook his head. Peter, for his part, didn't look as if anything was untoward.

The girl looked even more aghast at James' expression. Annoyed at the insensitivity of the two boys, she looked to Remus and Peter, the last two of them, waiting to see what stupid thing they would add to an already horrible conversation.

"Hi," Remus said, trying to salvage the smallest shred of dignity on behalf of his friends. "Remus," he offered.

"Lily," she replied hesitantly.

James, upon hearing the wonderful girl's name, whispered it himself, as it to test to see what it sounded like from his lips. "Lily."

Lily started at James in ill-disguised distaste.

"Look, sorry about this," Remus apologised. "My friends are a bit barmy sometimes. They're actually alright, when they're not acting like complete prats, like now. We were just on the other side of the lake when James—the wet one—wanted to meet you."

James tried on one of his winning smile. It was an expression that never failed to win over a girl's heart.

"Why?" she asked, scrunching her nose as if a bad smell had wafted her way. Obviously, the smile failed.

"Well, I suspect he's taken a fancy to you," Remus replied smiling.

She snorted and stood up. "Would you do me a favour, and tell him something?" she asked Remus, knowing full well that James was listening.

"Of course," Remus replied tentatively.

"When he turns back into his normal self, could you please tell him that he is wasting his time," she requested, dusting off her skirts and fixing her hair. Then she paused and, looking James directly in the eye, announced, "I do not find him remotely interesting and I am in full confidence that I will never return his affections."

James' jaw dropped. Sirius smirked. Peter looked stunned.

And Remus nodded feebly, glancing cautiously at James. "I- I'll tell him, but he won't like it," he mumbled pointlessly.

James shook his head, agreeing.

"He doesn't have to," she replied smartly. "Good day," she bid, before she turned and walked away into the trees.

James watched her leave with a desperate and longing face; unable to pinpoint what he had said that had affronted her.

After a minute, he spoke up, "Boys, I'm determined to make her fall in love with me."

"Ok, mate, you do that," Sirius placated, clearly not believing it was possible.

-mp-

Two months later, James had still not made good on his promise. Lily, rather unfortunately, still thought him to be the bumbling, dripping wet, arrogant boy from that day. That isn't to say that James didn't try.

On the contrary, James spent much of his time devising ways to get Lily to pay attention to him. Sirius, Remus and Peter became concerned with the amount of determination he was showing, but Sirius wisely stayed quiet and made the other two promise that he would too. Sirius knew that if James didn't have Lily to focus on, he would spend his time thinking of Riddle back in Slytherin and sharpening his sword so that he could one day kill the man.

It was a blissful two months in which talk of Riddle, the Red Sword or revenge never arose. So, Lily, without knowing it, was saving James from himself, and if for nothing else, Sirius was glad.

But that didn't mean he wasn't sick of seeing James crash and burn. After one particularly harsh rejection, in which Lily hissed at James that he had as much charm as a dead slug, James came back to his three friends, disheartened.

"Will she _ever_ accept me?" he whined gloomily.

"Probably not," Sirius said bluntly, "but you've got the courage of a lion, my friend."

"Surely your attempts could be not entirely wasted," Remus offered.

"At least she's noticing you," Peter added.

James snorted. "Yeah, noticing me enough to compare me to deceased insects." He sighed, his heart clenching painfully. "I love her, boys," he said plainly, "I really do."

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look.

James continued, "I know she doesn't like me much—" (Sirius was about to mention that was a gross understatement, but was hushed by a sharp jab in the ribs by Remus)—"but I … I just can't get her off my mind! You can't deny it. She's gorgeous!" James insisted.

Raising his eyebrows at the sincerity of James' persistence, Sirius said, "I don't doubt that. She … er, she has a lovely complexion—"

"Well, what about me?" James asked.

The three boys seemed stunned. "Sorry?"

"Don't I have a 'lovely complexion'?" James clarified.

Sirius was utterly confused, "Uh ... yes ... I suppose."

"No, I meant, I'm alright-looking, aren't I?" James rephrased.

"You're not bad," Sirius said, not knowing how much more of an answer James was seeking. Beside him, Peter nodded his agreement.

James looked to Remus, who piped in, "Yeah, I mean, you're very handsome. Nice hair, lovely eyes, strong build," he opined.

Sirius glanced at Remus sideways and gave him a cautious look.

James threw his hands up, "So why does she treat me as if I don't exist?"

Sirius sighed. His friend really did seem troubled. For the first time in two months, the weight of pursuing the ever-stubborn Lily was crashing down on James. It was time for Sirius to be a friend and brother. Remus gave him a look of encouragement, knowing wise words were needed. Sirius personally thought Remus would be better for the job, but knew it had to be him.

"Well, James, perhaps she just needs to see you from the inside," he encouraged, scrambling his head for the right words.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean; she's only seen you being a pathetic loser who falls in ponds and spouts out really bad lines that are supposed to charm her," he stated plainly.

There was no subtlety lost on Sirius Black.

Remus gave him a disapproving look. Sirius shrugged his shoulder as if to say, _what?_

James deflated and slumped down. "You're right."

"She hasn't seen the real you. If she did, she'd love you," Sirius assured.

"Well how am I supposed to approach her then?" he asked glumly. Then he gave Sirius a pleading look. "Would you show me?"

"What?"

"Show me how to approach her. Why don't you be me and Remus can be Lily and then you two can show me how I'm supposed to woo her?" James suggested energetically, thinking his plan was genius.

Peter let out a small laugh at the very idea and already looked incredibly excited, while Remus blushed severely.

Sirius tried not to think about the implication about this enactment. He didn't have to look at Remus to know he resembled a tomato right now. Turning to James, Sirius was about to beg him to reconsider his plan, but he knew James wouldn't let him. James was sometimes as clueless as a rock. He would probably think what possible reason could prevent Sirius and Remus act out a scene in which Sirius dotes his love on Remus.

"Right," Sirius sighed to himself. Resigning himself to the moment, he turned to Remus, who looked at him unsurely. Suddenly, Sirius felt his hands begin to sweat profusely, and his heart beat to thud terribly in his ears. He felt like telling his heart to quiet down, but knew that would be silly.

He cleared his throat. "Er … Remus."

"Lily," Peter corrected.

"Er, right, sorry," Sirius said, starting again. "Lily."

"Yes James," Remus muttered to Sirius, face slightly downcast.

"No, no that's wrong," James said, "by this stage, she'd already be saying something along the lines of, 'I beg you to just leave me alone!'"

Remus coughed. "I beg you to leave me alone," he echoed to Sirius, and then turned to James, "Better?"

"No," James muttered despondently. "Not better. But continue," he prompted.

Sirius cleared his throat again and began to play with his fingers. "Er … so … just hear me out, Lily. I just wanted to tell you that I—" (he took a deep breath) –"I think you're very ... attractive," he said, looking at Remus, exuding mountains of discomfort and adding to the tension that was humming between them like a swarm of bees. If only James had enough sense to notice the awkwardness between he and Remus.

Sirius continued, "And … I know I've been a bit of an imbecile lately … and I've done and said stupid things … and you think I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being—"

"We get the point, Sirius," James warned. Peter laughed.

"… But I just want you to know that I'm better than that. I—uh—really like you a lot," Sirius rushed out.

All this time, Remus stood frozen. He offered neither word nor action and Sirius was feeling sweat build up on his brow.

After a minute, Sirius spoke again. "I'm sorry if I've hurt you in any way. And you should know howmuchIloveyou—There! That's how it's done! Easy! You've got nothing to worry about, James," Sirius finished loudly, cutting off his own words. He avoided all eye contact with Remus.

James still looked unsure. He looked to Remus for advice. "Remus? What do you think?"

"Well ... I think …" he began, shaking out of his momentary lapse, "To be honest James, she's just rejected you. I think you need to lay off for a while. Give her a few days," he said wisely, avoiding looking in Sirius' general direction.

James, struck by an idea, requested something of Remus. "Would you speak to her for me?"

"Huh?"

"Speak to her. Look, it's obvious she trusts you the most. So, could you tell her … you know … about me," James asked.

Remus, taken aback, agreed, "Sure."

James smiled, giving him a grateful look.

-mp-

"He's mad for you, you know."

Lily sighed. "I know. I think he's a fool, but I know he likes me."

"_Loves_ you," Remus corrected her gently, with a small smile.

The pair was sitting by the edge of the lake where, consequently, James and Lily first met. Remus sat staring at the peaceful water surface, watching dragonflies flit from left to right. Lily, beside him on his right, ripped a blade of grass into minute threads on her lap. When it was effectively destroyed, she picked another, and, head down, obliterated that as well.

Remus heard Lily exhale again. He knew she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure.

"Is it so horrible? To be loved?" Remus asked her.

She lifted her head at the unexpected question. Stumped, she muttered quietly, "No."

"Then you don't like it that it's _James_ that loves you," he clarified.

She scrunched her eyebrows and sat in thought. "He's just … so arrogant."

"And?"

"And what?" she asked.

"What else about him don't you like?"

Lily remained silent and looked away and Remus knew she had no answer.

After a while—giving Lily ample opportunity to answer his question—Remus said, "He's not a bad person, Lily. He's just a little crazy in love. I've known him only since he arrived here, but I know he is about as sincere a person as you can find. Give him a chance."

"But Remus, I know next to nothing about him!"

"You're not supposed to yet. You'll get to that when you are with him and talking to him. Despite what you've been subjected to, he can actually hold intelligent conversation once in a while."

Lily smiled.

Remus went on, "And yes, I agree, he does sometimes appear to be arrogant to you, but he's not like that when he is around anyone else. I honestly believe you only see that side because he's desperately trying to impress you. Though I doubt it's working."

Lily snorted. "It's annoying."

"I can imagine."

They sat in silence for a full ten minutes, digesting what they had discussed. Remus knew Lily was making important decisions in her mind, but he was almost certain she would give his friend a chance now.

Lily finally broke the silence. "How did you become so smart about relationships?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "I'm not."

"I beg to differ," Lily replied.

"Maybe when it comes to others. With myself, I'm my own mess," he sighed.

Lily sat with a knowing smirk on her face, staring at Remus out of the corner of her eye, as if she harboured a secret.

Remus noticed and asked suspiciously, "What?"

"Don't think I don't know about you," she said mysteriously.

"Know what?"

Lily smiled warmly. "Honestly, Remus. Does a certain dark-headed someone by the name of Sirius Black ring any bells?" she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Remus gave her a look. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said shortly, ignoring the pleasant jolt in his stomach.

"I'm sure," she replied with a sarcastic chuckle. "I'm not the only one here who is being pursued."

Remus went red. "I'm not being pursued!" Remus replied. "It's not like that. Sirius and I are ..." he trailed off.

"Yes?" Lily asked sweetly.

"We're just friends," he finished, knowing that deep in his heart, he wished they were more. "And besides, this conversation was meant to be about you and James."

"Oh, alright. But on the day you and Sirius stop tip-toeing around each other and finally do something about it, I want you to thank me for pointing you in the right direction. Deal?"

Remus smiled. "Do you promise to give James a chance?"

Sighing, she said, "Yes."

"Then deal," Remus replied, sealing the deal.

A long moment of silence passed them by in which they watched the sun begin to descend in the far distance.

Remus spoke up eventually, "You know, I've lived in Hufflepuff my entire life, and so have you. But I hadn't even met you before James and Sirius arrived. I didn't know your name."

Lily smiled. "I'm glad that's changed."

-mp-

One week later, after months of relentless pursuits, awkward conversations and constant rejections, Lily Evans finally agreed to court James Potter.

Two years later, they were married in a small ceremony with only their closest friends as witness.

Another year after that, in the middle of a blistering hot summer, Harry was born.

-mp-

"Master," a timid voice spoke in the dark room, almost a whisper.

The response came as a hiss, "What is it Wormtail?"

"H—he has a son now, my Lord."

The second voice snarled in rage. "_What?"_

"I have seen the child with my own eyes."

"Well, that won't do, will it? We can't have two Potter heirs."

The one named Wormtail cowered at his master's anger. "No, my Lord."

"One of them must die."

"Yes, Lord Voldemort."

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Here's an excerpt ..._

_James then knew he was about to lose his life. Riddle was about to kill him, so he did what he could to keep his family safe. _

_ "Lily! Take Harry and run!" he shouted, hoping she heard him and listened immediately. "RUN!"_


	9. What Happened That Night

_A/N: Hey guys, hope you're all enjoying it so far! _

_Just a quick note: It may seem like the pace of this story is super fast (and it is!), but let me remind you that it's primarily a Harry/Draco fic, so the vast majority of this story will be based around them. This initial 'James' part of the story ends with this chapter. _

-mp-

Chapter 8

**What Happened That Night**

Sirius shrugged a travelling cloak over his shoulder. "I'll be right back," he said to Remus who was busy reading on the couch. "I've just got to give James' back his dagger. Bloody prat keeps forgetting it at training," he muttered.

"Mmhmm," Remus mumbled, distracted by the book he was holding.

Sirius smirked. "You know, this house could be on fire and you wouldn't even care with your nose stuck in that old book."

Remus glanced up. "Oi," he said with a grin, "is it a crime to like reading?"

"It is when I'm around."

"And I suppose I'm to give all my attention to you, is that it?"

Sirius grinned and walked over to behind Remus' couch and bent over the back of it to hold his head up-side-down against Remus'. "Yes," he answered simply.

Remus was about to argue, but Sirius shut him up with a sound kiss.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "I'll see you soon."

"Prat," Remus murmured.

"Love you too."

"Yeah, yeah."

Sirius, still grinning, left their house and started his journey to see James and Lily. If Harry was awake, he might also spend some time playing with his godson, too, he mused happily.

-mp-

Godric's Hollow was quiet and still. James sat in his living room, pouring over training strategies he could try out the following day. Lily, he knew, was rummaging about in the kitchen, probably preparing dinner, while Harry was upstairs, blessedly fast asleep.

Needless to say, he wasn't expecting to be interrupted.

"Long time, no see ... _Potter_."

The hairs on the back of James' neck stood up as cold fear doused him.

It took him all of two second to realise who it was. _That voice._

He jumped up from the chair he was sitting on and spun to see the intruder in his house.

"You," he breathed, staring at the man shrouded in black standing at his doorway. His face was shadowed, but James didn't need to look under his hood to know who it was. "Riddle."

"Voldemort," came the angry hiss in reply.

James had no idea what he meant, and he didn't care. He stared him down, inwardly thinking about was Lily and Harry. He needed to get them safe.

"Get out of my house," James growled, staring at the shadowed figure he had spent the last two years of his life abhorring.

Riddle _tsk_ed him as if he were a child. "Why, don't you miss me at all?"

"Not really," James replied, trying to bide his time to figure out a way to get his family safe. Could he somehow get a message to Sirius?

"Lovely house," Riddle remarked in a nonchalant voice that made James feel ten kinds of uneasy. "You've been busy since we last met, Potter. A house ... a wife ... a _son_."

Ice filled James. How did Riddle know about Lily and Harry?

Riddle then asked, "Harry, is it? Nice name."

James felt white-hot fury in his limbs alongside absolute terror. It was then James noticed a slim stick-like shape in Riddle's hand that was about the length of his forearm. He didn't know what it was, but something about it alerted James that he and his family were in danger.

"Won't you let me see him?" Riddle asked in a sickly perverted voice.

"Over my dead body," James replied with a clenched jaw.

Riddle raised the hand that was holding the stick-like object. "Oh, that can be arranged."

Suddenly, James then knew he was about to lose his life. Riddle was about to kill him, so he did what he could to keep his family safe. "Lily! Take Harry and run!" he shouted, hoping she heard him and listened immediately. "_RUN!_"

He faced Riddle again, face set in stone. If this truly was his final moments, he wouldn't show any weakness. He wished he had time to go find his sword, or something, but he knew a blade wouldn't match Riddle's unnatural abilities.

James heard Lily's pounding footsteps rush up the staircase, and a small part of him relaxed, happy she had heard.

"Oh, don't worry, Potter. Your wife won't go far. I'll kill her too," Riddle threatened.

James' face hardened. "You son of a—"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

-mp-

"Oh Li-ly," Voldemort sing-songed as he climbed the staircase. He cast one final glance back at James, lying dead on the floor of his own house. "Where are you Lily?"

He reached the top of the landing and looked down the corridor to see a closed door. Instinctively, he knew that's where she and the boy were. He crept closer to the door and leant an ear against. He heard the faint whisper of a woman; "_Harry, be strong ... be safe._" Voldemort almost felt like laughing at their feeble attempts.

He grasped the door handle and burst it open, wand out and ready.

"No!" Lily screamed, standing up and planting herself in front of the crib, shielding her boy with her body. "Not Harry!"

"Foolish girl," he spat.

"Not him," she begged. "Take me. Please."

"Don't worry, I will."

He pointed his wand at her, summoning up the magic within for his second kill.

"N-no. Harry, I love you. I love you, my son. Please don't ... don't ... Harry ... HARRY—!"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A burst of green exploded from his wand and the girl's body dropped, already dead.

The boy started wailing and screaming.

"Oh shut up," he spat at the baby, stepping over Lily's corpse to get nearer to the infant. He stared down into his crib and saw the crying baby: the last surviving heir of Gryffindor, his enemy. Despite what both the boy's parents had thought, Voldemort had no intention of killing him. He needed Harry alive to fulfil the task his father failed. He needed Harry to revive Gryffindor.

He lifted his wand once more and pointed it to the forehead of the sobbing child. A light left his wand and transferred onto Harry's forehead. Riddle watched in amazement as the light suddenly faded, leaving a thin lightning-bolt shape on the infant's pale skin, like a fresh wound.

"Now, I've marked you Harry, with a magical sign you can never get rid of," he told the child. "You cannot escape your destiny now. Rest assured we will meet again, when you are older and ready to take up the Red Sword. _Then_, I will kill you. But for now, sleep."

Suddenly, a sound from downstairs reached Voldemort's ears and he hastened to leave. He could feel himself becoming much weakened from the amount of magic he had used this night and he wasn't sure he could defend himself against another foe.

The sounds became louder as somebody came rushing up the stairs. Riddle quickly made for the window of the boy's room and wrenched it open.

"Until next time, Harry," he bid to the already sleeping baby, before climbing out. He cast one last look back and saw someone entering the boy's room. An old man with a silvery white beard and a wand in his hand.

Voldemort wasted no time. He dangerously leapt down and landed painfully on the ground below. But before he could recover, he was running. With the little strength he had left, he wouldn't be able to fight another wizard.

Especially not Albus Dumbledore.

Breathing hard, Voldemort ran into the dark trees surrounding Godric's Hollow.

-mp-

With the image of Harry's freshly wounded forehead in the front of his mind, Albus clenched his teeth and ran to the dark woods surrounding the Potters' house, chasing the shadow.

A lightning-bolt scar.

The Professor didn't need a second look to know that the scar was the handiwork of dark magic, and thus he took flight, pursuing the being that had the ability to murder the Potters in a blink of an eye. It was neither sword nor spear nor arrow that could have done this, but a power that has long been forgotten and buried. A power that only a handful of people knew even existed.

Magic.

He reached the sinister tree-line and stared at the menacing murky forest and knew that the murderer was somewhere beyond. His eyes strained to see what he knew was almost invisible, and so with a small breath he uttered a single word.

"_Lumos_."

A small unnatural light suddenly glowed from the end of what appeared to be a thin stick. The Professor felt the rush of magic flow through him and sighed. It had been some time since he had tapped into that untouched part of him, hidden in his very soul.

Armed with his small yet strong light, he ventured inside the forest, picking up speed as he went, leaving Godric's Hollow and Harry behind, whom he was sure was being tended to by either Sirius or Remus by now. The silence of the forest pressed in on him. The light from his wand lit up the trees eerily. They stood like a battalion of tall and imposing spearman.

Minutes trickled by in dead silence. The Professor followed his instincts. Weaving in between thick, coarse trunks and stepping on matted, wet leaves, he knew he was nearing his target.

Suddenly—

"_Stupefy!_"

A stunning red light raced towards him.

"_Protego!_" he cried back, creating an invisible shield around him that diverted the attack.

Once again silence infiltrated the surroundings but the Professor was on high alert. The murderer was here somewhere. He heard his own heart beating. He flexed his fingers around the wand.

"_Crucio!_"

Eyes alert, the Professor side-stepped the evil curse in the last possible moment and watched the blinding light sail past him and crash into a tree.

"For all these years I thought magic was dead," Albus spoke into the night. "I stand corrected, spellcaster." He was greeted with more silence. "Come out so I can see the wizard you are."

"Magic never died, you old fool," growled the low voice. "It was merely stupidly forgotten."

The Professor flinched at the voice that cast the spell that murdered the Potters.

"It has not been used since the Great Battle that destroyed a mighty kingdom long ago," the Professor replied, calculating his every word. He suddenly began to realise his invisible foe's motives. He began to understand why this wizard would attack the young family. "Ah yes, that's it, isn't it?" the Professor asked knowingly, holding his wand aloft and alert. "Gryffindor. The lost Kingdom. The heir of which whose parents you just murdered." The Professor was sure his opponent was shocked.

His assumption was correct, because it was then that a dark cloaked figure emerged from behind a tree, ten metres away, wand poised and pointed at the Professor's chest. He looked weakened and he appeared to be puffing.

"You know too much, old man," the figure hissed.

The Professor did not deny it. With confidence, he said, "I make it my business to know, Tom."

His opponent visibly flinched, as if his final secret was revealed.

"That name is dead to me," the figure spat, stepping closer and extending his arm fully so that his wand point did not waver. "I have taken up a new name. One that is feared by all."

Choosing to ignore this, the Professor asked, "Why would you leave Harry alive? He's just a baby."

"He is destined for more. I needed one Potter alive, and I chose him."

"Destined?" the Professor repeated, his endless mind ticking. He contemplated Riddle, trying to pull his mind apart and understand his wicked intent.

The final puzzle pieces seemed to not fit.

He had chosen Harry to live, the last heir of Gryffindor. And he was obsessed with the ancient art of magic.

How can these pieces of information fall into place?

Then, a fog was suddenly lifted from his mind and in an instant, the answer was clear.

"The Red Sword," the Professor muttered contemplatively. Riddle remained quiet while the Professor continued his revelation, "You want the magic embedded within in, and as of tonight, Harry is the only person who can possibly wield it."

"Gryffindor needs to be revived for the sword to be retrieved. And I need the boy," Riddle explained slowly, malevolence paired with every word. Riddle then suddenly clutched his heart with his free hand as if in pain. The wand in the other hand wavered.

The Professor narrowed his eyes as he noticed this. "You're weakened by the magic. The casting of an Unforgivable has almost killed you," the Professor said calmly. "You need the Sword to fuel you, don't you, Tom? I won't let you have it and I won't let you near Harry."

"You can try," Riddle said, wheezing.

"Try? Oh no, this ends tonight," the Professor said raising his wand and pointing it straight at the murderer.

Riddle would not have been able to stop him if he tried.

Albus' wand-tip flared alive and shot out a brilliant purple light.

Riddle's body vanished.

-mp-

Sirius was still far down the lane from Godric's Hollow when he heard the bone-chilling scream of a woman that was abruptly cut-off, followed closely by the terrified wailing of a baby.

Lily and Harry.

Sudden adrenaline pumped through him and Sirius began to sprint towards the house, James' dagger in his hand. He tried to force himself to run faster, but it was like his legs weren't cooperating, like he was running through honey instead of air.

By the time he reached the front steps of the Hollow, he was panting heavily, filled with panic and dread. Why had Lily and Harry been screaming?

He pushed open the front door, terrified that it had been unlocked to begin with. Inside, Sirius immediately began looking around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"James? Lily?" he called into the silent house.

No response.

Something wasn't right.

Slowly, dagger held high, he crept into the living room where so many of his good memories had been created. In the dark, he noticed an indiscernible shape on the floor.

Cautiously, he crept closer, fully alert.

But as he got closer ...

_James?_

Sirius abandoned caution and rushed to his friend's side.

"James! Mate! Get up! What's going on? I heard Lily screaming. Why aren't you ..."

His voice trailed off as he realised James wasn't moving or reacting to him in any way.

Then, he realised.

"No ... Ja—James ... get up ... wake up ... n-no ... you can't ... god no ..."

James wasn't moving at all.

"NO!" Sirius shouted as shock overtook his system, staring at the lifeless eyes of his best friend, shaking him, waiting for him to wake up. "James! JAMES!"

He heard a baby crying upstairs.

Sirius looked up. "Harry," he whispered. Getting up, trembling with shock and horror, Sirius climbed the staircase, dreading what he would see.

When he got to Harry's bedroom, his knees collapsed from under him.

_ Lily!_

"No ... no, no, no, no ..." he muttered to himself, arms and legs shaking. Sirius couldn't believe what he was staring at.

James and Lily. Dead in their own house.

Inexpressible sorrow filled him and he felt his eyes finally well up with hot tears.

"No ..." he murmured again, shaking his head as if this was all one horrible dream, "No ... this can't ... no ... NO!"

He noticed movement in the corner of his eyes and shot his head up, seeing curtains flapping in the breeze that wafted through window which was hastily left open. Sirius blindly rushed to the opening and peered out, feeling sorrow and hate course through him. In the dim light, he barely made out the image of a man, dressed all in black, scurrying into the dark trees that bordered the Hollow. A ways behind the man was another—this one with long, silvery hair and a small, stick-like object in his hand. Sirius squinted. Dumbledore?

He had no time to ponder this because suddenly, Harry started crying

He instantly forgot about Dumbledore and forced himself to move towards the crib, walking on trembling legs to his tiny godson. His heart shattered when he saw the tears flowing from his green eyes and Harry's small arms reaching up to him, wanting comfort.

"Harry," Sirius cried.

Just as he was about to reach down to hug Harry to him, someone burst through the door.

"Stop!" a man bellowed in a deep and angry voice.

Sirius looked up in shock to see three men dressed in the uniform of the Hufflepuff lawkeepers.

"Step away from the child and put your hands behind your back," the intruder ordered.

"What?" Sirius breathed.

The man drew his sword and pointed it at Sirius. "Drop your weapon, criminal."

It was only then that Sirius realised he still had James' dagger in his hands. "No, wait, this isn't—"

"I said, drop it!"

Sirius did, his heart pounding madly in distress and confusion.

The man approached him swiftly and held him at sword-point. "You are under arrest for the murder of James and Lily Potter—"

"WHAT?" Sirius cried.

"—and the attempted murder of their son."

"No, that's not—that's a lie! I didn't do it!"

"You're coming with me," the man spat. Then he motioned to his companions to grab Sirius and hold his arms behind his back.

"No! You don't understand! It's not me! I didn't do it! Please! Listen to me!"

They dragged him out of the house.

-mp-

Azkaban. That was where they were going to take him. Just as soon as they could get the transport organised.

Sirius felt cold.

It had been two days since he'd seen his best friends' dead bodies and Harry screaming out his lungs, and no matter how much he protested, no one would believe him. They all thought he was the murderer. But how can they think that? How could he ever kill James and Lily?

There was nothing he could do but wait in deep sorrow and mourning.

He heard footsteps approaching him and looked up.

"Oi, Black, you've got company," a guard said as he came down the cold, wet steps that led to the dungeons.

Sirius craned his neck to see who it was.

His heart almost stopped when he saw Remus.

"Remus," he whispered.

It killed him to see how much distance Remus wanted between himself and Sirius.

"Remus, you can't believe them. I didn't do it," Sirius pleaded.

The look Remus gave him cut deep into his heart; betrayal, hate, anger. "How could you?" Remus breathed.

"I didn't."

"Stop lying. Everyone saw you."

"It wasn't me!"

"Stop lying, Black!"

_Black. _Remus never called him that.

Sirius blinked.

"You have to believe me! I could never kill James and Lily! I could never hurt Harry!"

"You were holding that stupid dagger above Harry's head. You were about to kill him too," Remus said, staring at Sirius with all the hate he could muster.

"No!" Sirius objected. "I would never do that! Please you have to believe—!"

"How could you? HOW COULD YOU?"

"Remus, listen to me. You know me. More than anyone on this earth, you know me the best. You know that I couldn't do that. I love you, Rem—"

"Don't you dare," Remus spat. "Everything about you was a lie. You're dead to me, Sirius. I wish I never knew you."

His words were like ice, and Sirius then knew that there was nothing he could say to convince Remus. He had lost Remus; his best friend, his lover, his partner.

Sirius was now completely alone.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Nineteen years later_


	10. Death and Marriage

**PART 2**

Chapter 9

**Death and Marriage**

_ Across the wide grassy plain of the Nullius lies the massive and mighty Empire of Slytherin, where our tale began twenty years ago._

_ And where it now continues. _

_ The scene, I am obliged to report, is much different to the one which saw the banishment of James Potter, and the murder of his father, King Fredrick. In the past two decades, the Empire has thrived, particularly under the rule of the new King who claimed the Throne after Fredrick died: Lucius Malfoy. _

_ Before Lucius, however, there were a brief few years in which Riddle ruled the Empire. Most everyone expected him to continue to be King until one day he could pass it onto his successor. But alas, no, Riddle's reign was short. _

_ And no one knows why._

_ It appears Riddle vanished without a word three years after he became King. No one has seen him since. Some say he was struck ill and died of malady, some say he was wrought with grief after the death of King Fredrick, and thus disappeared. Nineteen years have now passed and still no one has heard neither head nor hide of him._

_ The truth remains unknown to all—_

_ —except me. _

_ But that is a story for later. We shall return back to the Empire, and its power-hungry King. _

_ Lucius, in one word, is ambitious. He wants the best for Slytherin and seeks to do anything to gain it, even start a war. The only thing Lucius Malfoy holds dearer to his heart than his Kingdom is his son, Crown Prince Draco, the Heir of Slytherin. For him, Lucius would murder someone in cold blood._

-mp-

From his position, seated on his tall gold-lined throne, Draco observed his father, the King of the Empire. He admired the refined man, all elegance and stature, as he addressed the royal court with a voice that commanded the respect and fear of all beneath him, which he received in excess.

A sly glance around the impressive, grand hall to the other occupants seated on their own thrones—albeit, smaller and less impressive ones—proved to Draco that each member of the court had a high level of veneration for the King, as they stared at him with approbation. Draco, too, turned to his father, not wanting to miss a word of his speech of their recent victory at Durmstrang.

"The battle, I am pleased to report, only lasted for three days. Through sheer force and ambition, I have managed to capture the north-west corner of Durmstrang. I have a small camp established there, where my troops are now based, resting and holding the fort until more troops arrive. The next fleet should reach the country within the week, delivering another ten thousand infantry, five thousand archers and three thousand cavalry."

Lucius paused here, and levelled his gaze at the people surrounding him. It appeared as if his eyes pierced them all simultaneously, and Draco noticed a few nobles shudder from the intensity of his stare. Draco smiled inwardly. Having been on the receiving end of one of those glares before—once when he had taken one of the royal stables horses and ridden it without permission—he knew the feeling of complete inadequacy. It was a glare that almost dared the other person to challenge or question him.

One of the nobles, with carefully groomed chestnut-coloured hair, spoke up hesitantly. "What of the casualty report, my Lord?"

Draco saw his father scowl dangerously. "The number of my soldiers who _died_ during battle is not a concern to me, nor should it be to you. They served their purpose to their King and to the Empire. If they died, they died with the knowledge that they were bettering this kingdom. It is an honour to die in such a regard, McNair," Lucius hissed.

"And Durmstrang?" asked another man. "What did they suffer?"

At this, Lucius grinned maliciously. Draco did, too. There was a reason this initial battle was so short, and Draco knew why. "Yes, they have suffered indeed. Victor Krum, Prince of Durmstrang, and acclaimed to be their best swords fighter, was struck on the third day. One of my soldiers murdered him right on the front line." Lucius paused to revel in the statement. "When the news reached the King, Karkaroff begged a ceasefire, long enough for the funeral rights to pass. That was two days ago. The ceasefire will continue for another five days. By that time, we will be strong enough to attack and advance to the next stage of this siege. It will not be long—"

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _

The King stopped speaking. All eyes turned to the heavy, ornately decorated wooden doors at the end of the hall. Someone on the other side was knocking, though it sounded more like elephants stomping on the ground. The guards standing on either side of the entrance looked to Lucius, who nodded that they should open the doors.

A squire dressed in thick fur coats, carrying a white flag entered, escorted on either side by Slytherin knights. The squire looked young and fearful, clutching the white material possessively, as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. In fact, it was. The young man was a messenger from Durmstrang, and he would have already been killed if it weren't for the gesture of peace.

Draco glanced in his father's direction to see what sort of reaction he would have. Lucius raised an arched eyebrow at the trembling squire and delivered a terrifying gaze in his direction. Draco hurriedly did the same.

The soldiers posted at equal intervals around the perimeter of the room awaited direction from the King, ready to kill the young man at a moment's notice. The nobles seated on thrones all around observed him with curious visages.

"Your Majesty, King Lucius," the squire from Durmstrang mumbled quickly. Draco strained to hear him. "I have been sent by the King of Durmstrang, Lord Karkaroff, to deliver a message." The squire closed his eyes briefly, as if he said a quick prayer to gods unknown. Draco a look of desperation flash across his face, and the Prince was sure the man knew he was about to die. "Your soldiers have murdered his son, my Prince, Victor, and he demands justice."

Draco raised his eyebrows at these words. The squire was either very foolish or very brave. Karkaroff had indeed sent him to his death.

"Justice?" Lucius sneered, his voice dripping malice and contempt, as the word itself did not register in his mind. He looked at the man from Durmstrang as if he were a cockroach.

"Your soldiers took the life of his son, Y-Your Majesty. In return, his soldiers will ..." he gulped, "take the life of yours."

Silence reigned. Draco's heart suddenly flipped, and he felt winded as his breath caught.

_ They want to kill me! _

He fought to keep his face passive, to not show emotion, as his father was doing. Out of his peripherals he observed his father and noticed his clenched jaw—the only sign of outward anger. Anger, Draco observed, but not shock. It was as if his father expected something like this to happen. _Of course_, Draco thought, _a life for a life._

"Kill him," Lucius ordered offhandedly.

The soldiers lining the edges of the hall moved instantly and within the next second, the young squire that had delivered the news of Draco's imminent death had six arrows protruding grotesquely from his chest and back, as if he had suddenly grown six unnatural limbs. He gasped, his eyes widened and he crumpled to his knees.

Draco, still surprised, watched him choke and struggle to breathe. Soon, he was dead. The young man had fallen awkwardly on his back, embedding the arrows there further into his lifeless flesh. His father watched avidly, a slight grin lining his lips. The Prince found no delight in seeing the man die; he couldn't smile, not when an entire country—a powerful one, at that—wanted him dead.

-mp-

Later that night, the Royal family sat in one of the Castle's many drawing rooms. They wanted privacy, but, as Draco warily took note of the handful of guards standing at the entrances of the room, "privacy" for him and his family never meant complete solitude.

There were always at least two soldiers flanking him at all times, like annoying flies buzzing around his head. It was one of Draco's dearest wishes to spend a day alone, by himself, without the shadowing presence of a team of tall and burly soldiers standing awkwardly a couple of metres away from him. They never knew how to interact with the Prince, as Draco always made it completely clear that he did not want them there. Still, the commands of Lucius were greater than the pleas of Draco.

"Lucius," his mother spoke, desperation in her voice. "How can you sit there calmly? Our son's life is threatened."

Draco didn't know what his mother was going on about. His father always _'sat there calmly'_, a stoic expression omnipresent on his sculptured face. This was the face Draco constantly tried to mimic.

"Narcissa, I am well aware of the situation," was all he said, which caused his elegant mother to expel a breath sharply in frustration.

"Mother, I'll be fine," Draco said, adopting his father's composure.

She gave him a sad smile. "Oh yes, I'm sure. But ... Draco, something must be done. We cannot simply sit here and do nothing," she said, turning to her husband and shooting him a glare.

"We will do _something_," his father said pointedly, annoyance marring his words, "but remember, Narcissa, that we are on the brink of war, and I have—"

"You still want to go to _war_ with Durmstrang?" she screeched, and Draco winced.

His father looked at her incredulously. "Of course," he said firmly.

"Mother—" but Draco was cut off.

"Lucius, Draco's life—" his mother began.

"—was threatened, I _know_," his father huffed.

His mother opened her mouth again, ready to retort, but thought better of it, and remained quiet.

Then there was silence. All three members of the small family sat in thought, occasionally glancing at each other. Draco saw his mother sending her husband desperate looks, trying to get him to see her reason, but his father remained still and did not answer her silent plea. Draco was not shocked to find that he agreed with his father, he always did. Growing up, Draco had always thought that when _he_ was King, he would rule exactly as his father had. From a young age, Draco took note of every decision his father made, every agreement his father broke, every expression that adorned his face, and why.

And today, he _knew_ why the war was so important, he _knew_ the political differences involved, and he _knew_ that ending the war was _not_ acceptable. No, their plans for war should not be postponed because of this. His was just one life. There was an opportunity to conquer one of the most powerful nations, and the Empire currently had one foot in the door. A victory would increase Slytherin's power exponentially. Never again would there be doubt on the might of their great Kingdom. Their plans must go on. Draco would simply have to be careful not to get killed.

Draco was startled back to the present when his father suddenly spoke.

"I will assign more guards to Draco," he decided finally, as if this was the answer to everything.

_What?_ Draco looked at him horrified. _So much for agreeing with you, Father!_ "Father, please—"

"Be quiet, Draco, I am trying to save your life," he said.

"On the contrary, I am sure that will _kill_ it! Father, no more guards, I _beg_ you," Draco pleaded. The thought of more soldiers stalking him made him incensed. Every last shred of hope for privacy would vanish forever.

"Draco," his mother soothed. "We're only trying to protect you,"

Draco glared at his mother, furious that apparently she now _agreed_ with his father. Two against one were not good odds, particularly when the two were the King and Queen.

Draco knew he was doomed, but he tried again. "Mother, Father, I don't want any more guards. I won't be able to _do_ anything. Every time I even go to the _bathroom_, half the Empire knows!"

"Better that than your death, Draco," his father said impatiently, glaring at his son.

"I'm not going to die, Father," Draco said firmly.

"... Yes, because of your new protection," he finished.

"How do we even know the stupid squire was telling the truth?" Draco asked rhetorically. "He could have merely _said_ they wanted me dead, to try and stop the war—which they know they will lose. It could be blackmail!" Clutching at straws was not attractive, Draco knew, but he would rather _that_ than have more guards.

"Even if that were so, we can't take this lightly," his mother said gently. "I'd rather be safe than sorry. The thought of having my only son killed is too much to bear." Draco thought she sounded condescending, which angered him more.

"Only son _and_ only Heir," his father grumbled to himself.

"I'll be careful, I promise. I'm not going to die," Draco repeated. "Trust me, that last thing I need are more guards."

"Draco, the matter is closed. Your mother and I agree, and that is that." The finality in his unyielding voice was like a thick metal door being slammed in Draco's face.  
>But Draco tried one final plea. "I understand, but you can't possibly waste more soldiers to become my guards when we're about to war with another country, really, Father. We need more on the battlelines."<p>

When there was silence after this, Draco swallowed nervously. That was wrong of him to say.

His father looked at him heatedly. "Draco," he began with a quiet yet firm voice that indicated that Draco had stepped over the line. "_Now_ you are being ignorant."

And Draco knew that he was. His argument was irrelevant. The Empire was one of the world's greatest powerhouses. With a military might of over a million men, three or so more soldiers at Draco's side would not make much of a difference.

The King continued: "If you are so against the idea of more guards, then we will make this a trial period. If, after two weeks, no attempt has been made on your life, we will reduce the number of guards back to the original two. Is that understood?" Lucius asked coolly.

Draco saw his mother give him a beseeched look, begging him to accept the offer.

"Yes, father, I understand."

A timid voice spoke from the side. "Your Majesties?"

Three regal blonde heads turned to the door.

Draco craned his head over his father's shoulder to see an old balding man, whose height was nothing to be desired. The top of the man's head would barely skim Draco's arms. Even this was not a high compliment, as Draco, too, was not a particularly tall person: a fact he was not happy about. His mother often reminded him that it's _how_ you carry yourself that makes the difference, not how tall you are. Draco suspected she only said that to placate his frustration.

"Yes?" his father hissed, staring the poor man down.

Trembling, the messenger said, "Lord and Lady Greengrass request the company with the King, Queen and Prince, sire."

_Oh dear_. Draco sighed and visibly deflated. The Greengrass clan were not people he would voluntarily spend time with. Ever.

But it seemed inevitable, as Astoria, their loud, overbearing and domineering daughter—who was conveniently Draco's age—was the girl with whom he would spend the rest of his life. Plans for their marriage had been in place since they were born.

"Lovely," his mother said with a delighted smile on her face. "Are they waiting in the hall?"

"Yes, Milady," the messenger answered.

"Well bring them in at once, of course," she stipulated, and the balding man bustled out the magnificent gold-trimmed doors.

The Queen turned to her son, who was hunched over, his eyes daydreaming at a spot on the brick wall opposite him.

"Draco," she tutted. "Sit up, sit up. Fix your tunic. Astoria will be here and you _will_ be the perfect gentleman. Understand?"

Draco didn't reply, but sat up nonetheless. Seconds later, the doors opened once again and in walked in Lord and Lady Greengrass, followed by Draco's bride-to-be.

Once again, the Prince was reminded why he did not want to marry her, when he saw her face. She wasn't even remotely attractive. The only compliment Draco could pay her was that she was handsome. She had a manly face, which looked horribly out of place with her long dark hair and slim body, clothed in a heavy-looking moss-green dress that showed off her figure.

A bit _too_ much, Draco mused as he wondered why it was necessary to have her breasts so pushed up and together like that. For crying out loud, it was indecent! Not to mention inappropriate with his parents there.

"Lucius, Narcissa," Robert Greengrass addressed in his deep, rough voice that made Draco's innards shudder unpleasantly.

Lucius grunted his own response of, "Robert", while Narcissa held out her silken gloved hand to be kissed. A dainty smile dressed her pale face.

Lord Greengrass greeted them accordingly, and then turned to Draco. "And of course, the young Prince. Draco," he said in what Draco thought was a patronising tone.

The blonde Prince shook his hand also, as was required, along with a fake smile. He did not appreciate being called _young_. He was twenty! Older than Astoria, for sure.

"Lord Greengrass," he replied.

"Darling Draco!" came the shriek of Mirabella, Lady Greengrass, who hugged him without preamble. Draco almost suffocated in her tight hold. He was pressed into her bosom unnervingly—though it was quite cushioned—and was immediately overpowered by the strong odour of her perfume, which reeked. "How's my favourite son-in-law?" she asked, while still holding him captive in her death-grip.

Draco pushed himself away from her—albeit gently, so as not to appear desperate to run away screaming. He gritted his teeth and smiled at her, wishing she would suddenly disappear. He wasn't sure why she insisted on calling him 'son-in-law' as he hadn't married her daughter.

_Yet_, Draco grumbled to himself silently.

Reminded of his impending nuptials, Draco almost groaned and was beginning to feel nauseous. Though that could be because of Mirabella's perfume. Fortunately she moved away to sit down.

Unfortunately, Astoria came into his view next.

All four adults, who were taking their seats, stopped talking to observe the two lovebirds.

Draco knew he should speak first, take initiative, but looking at her face, almost hidden under a two-centimetre thick layer of cosmetics, and her unbelievably visible cleavage, Draco had to keep his lips sealed. He was positive that if he opened his mouth, words would not be the only things that would be expelled.

After a few seconds of pregnant silence, Astoria spoke. "Prince Draco." She smiled widely, and gave a small curtsey.

Draco couldn't help but notice the small lipstick stain on her front tooth. The girl was clearly trying too hard.

Clenching his stomach, he willed himself to speak, "Astoria." He bowed his head slightly.

Draco, unable to continue looking at Astoria, turned to his parents. He was ready to take a seat, but he noticed his mother's lips moving desperately, telling him to continue speaking to Astoria. He sighed and fixed his gaze on his fiancé again.

"I hope—I hope you are well," Draco said. He silently congratulated himself on how normal he sounded.

"I am, thank you for asking," she replied with a gut-churning giggle. "And yourself?"

"Fine," he responded, a little too quickly and straightforward and he inwardly winced. He amended his mistake. "I am also well, thank you." Her grin revealed her pink tooth again, and Draco flinched. "Would—ah, would you like to sit down?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager to finish their pitiful conversation.

"Yes, please," she answered politely.

Putting all his gentleman-like training to the test, Draco led her to a chair and held the back of the seat as she sat. Draco had a fleeting moment of imagination as he thought of the repercussions of pulling the chair out from under while she bent to sit, and watch her flop ungraciously on her derriere. He, unfortunately, conceded that the thought would have to be excused, and sat down as well.

The six occupants of the room sat in silence for a moment or two, waiting for someone to speak first. Draco was surely not going to be the first to break the silence, but as he looked around the room, he observed Mirabella, who looked anxious to begin talking, a conversation topic already on her lips.

Predictably, she burst. "Lucius, Narcissa, we heard the terrible news. Just _awful_!"

For a moment, Draco was confused and wondered what she was going on about, when he remembered the threat made to his life earlier. The presence of Astoria and her parents had filled his mind with a _new_ crisis, and made him forget his other troubles. It seemed his life was a string of tribulations—a death threat, more guards and a bride that threatened to expel the contents of his stomach.

"Oh, Mirabella, I _know_," his mother gushed out, nodding solemnly. "It's _terrible_. I can scarce believe it. My poor Draco."

_Hey!_ _Poor Draco?_ Draco echoed silently

"As soon as I heard I came rushing in, Narcissa. Just _terrible_."

The image of Mirabella 'rushing in' to anywhere had Draco grimacing. What a sight that would be! Her dress probably weighed about as much as he did, not to mention her own impressive body mass straining in the fabric.

_And could they _please_ stop saying 'terrible'?_

"Lucius has plans to assign more guards to Draco's side. Any extra protection would be better than what he has now. But still, a mother is always worried," the Queen crooned.

"Oh, Nar-_cis_sa," Mirabella groaned out slowly. She meant for it to sound like empathy, but to Draco, it sounded more like a creaking door.

"Mira-_bel_-la," Narcissa responded with her own noisy-door voice. "My _poor_ Draco."

_There she goes again. _Draco subtly rolled his eyes. _And why are they talking as if I'm not even here?_

Throughout their motherly pity-party, Lucius and Robert remained silent, observing their cooing wives have their own conversation. Astoria also was quiet, but observed the mothers with rapt attention, her eyebrows forming an up-side-down V in a look of complete pity on her heavily made-up face. She kept sending sympathetic glances to Draco, which made him queasy.

The torture of a night continued for another hour, and by the time it ended, Draco's jaws were sore from all the teeth-gritting he was doing. He was forced to politely bid them farewell, but as soon as they were safely ensconced in their carriage, he rushed upstairs to his bedroom and collapsed onto his huge bed, which dipped when he fell and cuddled him from all sides. He breathed a massive sigh of relief. Between his parents, the Greengrasses and his personal guards, he could barely breathe. Draco often felt suffocated, and these few precious moments just before he would sleep, were golden.

He had banished his manservant earlier—who had come in to help him undress and change—opting to simply snuggle in his bed, still dressed in his royal tunic, creases be damned!

-mp-

_Next Chapter: The life of a Prince is taxing on poor Draco, so he and his father reach a compromise._


	11. Compromise

Chapter 10

**Compromise**

The next morning, to Draco's dismay, two more of the biggest, burliest Slytherin soldiers were waiting outside his chambers. Apparently, these were his father's pick of the crop to take up the post of Draco's newest guards. They were tremendously unintelligent, and so far the only words they had grunted were "Crabbe" and "Goyle", in answer to Draco's enquiry as to their names. They reminded Draco of cavemen, with abnormally large hands, small heads, and a body mass that could easily have been Draco's triple, each. They dwarfed his slighter physique, and made Draco feel minute. He must have looked like a child, and Draco cursed his father for making him endure this.

Draco now counted six of them. Six ineffably omnipresent guards shadowing him everywhere he went. He almost could have ripped his hair off in frustration. Almost.

Draco sighed loudly.

The morning had begun with so many promises. Having blinked awake on his massive four-poster bed, rays of the afternoon sun shining in through enormous windows, he stretched and took his time waking slowly—the previous days' problems forgotten in the bleary morning daylight. His manservant, Timothy, helped him shrug into his morning robe to escorting him to the bathroom. Timothy proceeded to wash the Prince in his bath, while Draco relaxed in the heated soapy water, revelling in the moment. With the uncanny resemblance to that of a cat, he stood and stretched and exited the plush bathroom into his chambers once again.

Walking into his enormous wardrobe, he was instantly engulfed by rows and racks of all his clothes—most of which were silver and green, as green was his preferred colour. There were vests in one row, tunics in another, and his most desired silk robes with the Empire's crest on each to his immediate right. He took his time in deciding his tunic, robe and trousers for the day, and then, leaving his closet, he set about getting ready. After a good half hour of grooming, Draco deemed himself decent to leave his rooms.

His picture-perfect morning was then shattered into oblivion by the faces of the two newest additions to his all-pervading minions.

His two weeks of torture had begun.

Draco did everything he could to make it perfectly clear to anyone who would listen that he detested his current situation. In particular, he made sure that Crabbe, Goyle, Baddock, Pritchard, Morgan and Solomon knew they _weren't_ wanted. So focused was he on the looming presence of his six pets, that the message the squire from Durmstrang had delivered yesterday was not at the forefront on his mind, as it should have been.

-mp-

As he was wont to do, Draco headed down to the stables to embark on an early afternoon ride through the Black Castle's vast grassy lawns. However, the simple act of walking to the stables was made painfully difficult as Draco felt suffocated, like a mouse stuck in a cage. A moving one, in his case. His six guards never broke formation on his flanks.

Gritting his teeth, he tried valiantly to ignore them.

He also tried turning a blind eye to them as he raced his beautiful palomino over neatly trimmed grass, but it proved to be difficult, as all six were each mounted atop their own steed, matching his pace and keeping him surrounded.

Draco tried to pin his aggravation on a single point, and found, after minutes of careful pondering, that it _wasn't_ actually his father's decision to assign him more guards. The Prince was sure that he could survive having six personal shadows, _if_ they actually possessed a shred of personality.

He cast a glance at them and observed their bland faces, focused on the path ahead of them, keeping Draco in their peripherals. Their eyes betrayed no emotion; there was no sign of fervour in their blank expressions. They were, to all appearances, anonymous, faceless, inconsequential Slytherins.

Of all the millions of people living in his father's Empire, were these six _truly_ the best at protecting him?

He groaned out loud and urged his horse to increase his speed from a canter to a full gallop.

It was a very good thing he did. For in the next instance, a sharp, acute cry of pain rang out from behind Draco.

"AH!"

He snapped his head abruptly to the side and behind, and saw an arrow protruding hideously out of Solomon's chest.

"Wha—!" Draco exclaimed, slowing his horse's paces. "He's been shot!" The other six animals slowed as well, until they had reduced speed enough to jump off and run to the wounded soldier's side.

Draco hurried to Solomon's side and reached up to the still mounted soldier. He realised there was no way he would be able to carry Solomon off his horse on his own and immediately ordered the other five to come, who were standing by unsure of what to do.

"Get him off the horse, you idiots!" Draco demanded.

They lumbered over and used their trunk-sized arms to clumsily lower Solomon down to the grass.

Draco knelt over the gasping soldier, and observed the weapon jutting out from his right-side rib cage, either dangerously close to or directly on Solomon's heart.

It took a few seconds to realise that his other five guards were again doing nothing, awaiting instruction.

Draco huffed in annoyance at the mindless soldiers and began delegating. "You," he said sternly at Goyle. "Get back to the Castle and get a medic. Now!"

"Y'sir," he mumbled and plodded back to his heavy-set horse to begin riding back.

"You, come down here, hold his head and shield his eyes," he ordered to Baddock, who knelt on the other side of Solomon.

Draco's eyes returned to the sight of the ugly protrusion.

By the depth of the arrow's burial, Draco knew the missile had been a fast and steady one. It could only have been shot by the very skilled of archers.

He looked to Crabbe next. "Take your horse, too, and ride to the edge of the Forest. Try and find the archer."

Crabbe suddenly looked horribly pale at Draco's command.

"But, m'lord," he murmured in fear.

"What?" Draco huffed, as Solomon twitched in pain beneath him.

"It's the Dark Forest, m'lord! _Evil_ things in there," Crabbe protested, looking at tree-line with fear, his tiny eyes focused on the darkness and the shroud of cloud that hovered perpetually above the woodland.

Draco stared at him. He couldn't believe that Crabbe, a Slytherin knight with a substantially large body mass, was scared. "Are you _serious_? It's just a myth! Now try and find the arch—oh, never mind, you fool. He's probably long gone by now!"

Solomon gasped loudly and painfully in his arms and Draco's head tilted down again. He placed his hands around the arrow shaft, trying to estimate the extent of injury.

"I'm going to try and pull it out, alright?"

"M'lord!" the wounded soldier groaned. "Arrow's deep ... can't take it out ... it'll kill me."

Draco chose not to mention that he was probably going to die anyway. Shot from such a great distance, not only was arrow fast, but it carried a lot of force with it. The arrow had most definitely ruptured an important organ, and Solomon was already on his deathbed.

Two minutes later, Draco was proven correct. The man was dead.

It was on the way back to the stables that Draco realised what had just happened.

It hit him like a sack of bricks.

_The arrow was meant for him._

-mp-

News of Solomon's death reached the King's ears faster than Draco would have hoped. Because the first thing his father did was to assign another soldier, Dennison, as Solomon's replacement.

The first thing _Draco_ did was protest.

"Father, I think the lesson to be learnt here is that—"

The King, clutching his head with his hand tiredly said, "Draco, I beg you to be quiet."

But Draco ploughed on. "More guards will _not_ guarantee my life will be safe!" When his father didn't respond, Draco took it as his cue to continue. "Father, they—they are complete imbeciles! Granted, they may know how to handle a sword, but they couldn't hold an intelligent conversation with anyone, or make a sound decision, or do anything but blindly obey what I say!" His father maintained his silence. "That arrow could have just as easily have killed me, and then what? Your stupid guards couldn't have done _anything_!" Draco reasoned, staring at his father. Just as silence replaced his little rant, he automatically felt guilty. This was the first time he had ever raised his voice to his father; the first time he'd ever disagreed with him on anything.

Finally, after a long sigh, his father spoke. "You're right, Draco."

Draco snapped his jaw closed and froze on confusion. "You—you're agreeing with me?"

"Yes," was the man's cool reply.

"Really?" Draco asked stupidly.

"Certainly, Draco. You're absolutely correct. Your guards would not have been able to do anything had the arrow hit you." His father paused and stared contemplatively into his son's face. A relieved grin was beginning to spread on Draco's face. Maybe, finally, he would get his way.

The King continued, "Therefore, son, I'm banning you from leaving the inner walls of the Castle until further notice."

Draco paled.

Perhaps he should have remained quiet.

-mp-

His foul mood lasted, leaving a bitter feeling hovering over him, like the aftertaste of being force-fed the cook's asparagus. His annoying entourage of guards played a very large part in the unpleasantness. Searching for ways to amend the horrible day, Draco decided on paying a visit to his dearest friend. She never failed in lifting his spirits.

"You look like dung," was the first thing Pansy said as Draco stepped into her line of sight.

Draco stared at her crossly. "_You_ try being shot at, and see what that does to your complexion," he responded on cue. "Although, perhaps it would _improve_ your appearance. Anything would."

Pansy laughed at came over to embrace him. Draco gratefully accepted it, and the two sat down on a stone bench in the vast Parkinson Estate gardens.

"What are doing out here, Pans? You hate the outdoors," Draco commented.

"But the view from here is magnificent," Pansy remarked with a loud and attention-seeking giggle, looking unabashedly at the dozens of young men in front of them, practicing sword-fighting. Some, Draco observed, weren't wearing shirts, including Blaise Zabini, Pansy's betrothed.

"I see," Draco said dryly. "And what are _they_ doing here?"

Pansy bit her lip as she watched Blaise bend over to retrieve a fallen sword. The muscles in his back were glistening with sweat. "Oh, the training grounds are being remodelled, and father came up with the brilliant idea that the men should train here instead. Isn't it wonderful?" she laughed merrily. "Oh look, there's father now," she observed, waving her hand animatedly at a fit-looking middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed greying beard. He was wearing the deep green attire of a Slytherin battle master, as he prowled through the ranks of his soldiers. "Father!"

He turned to the two of them and waved in response.

"Hello Pansy, good afternoon Prince Draco!" he yelled back. A few heads from across the way turned their heads and bowed slightly when they realised the Prince was among them.

"Good afternoon," Draco replied to the man.

Albert Parkinson, Pansy's father, was a Chief of Battalion of one of the many Legions of the Slytherin army, and thus was in charge of a large section of infantry. It was pure coincidence that Blaise Zabini, the knight Pansy was promised to, happened to be in this battalion. Needless to say, Pansy wasn't complaining.

"Oh, doesn't he look fit," Pansy muttered, her eyes shining.

"Who? Your father?" Draco asked, repulsed.

Pansy nudged him painfully in the side. "No, you prat. Blaise!" she insisted, gazing at the half-nude man, prancing back and forth with an opponent, practicing his attacks.

It would have been complete denial for Draco to disagree with Pansy. Blaise _was_ a fit man, if his swollen biceps were anything to go by. The muscles of his chest and shoulders weren't bad either. He looked like he could lift a horse.

As if he knew he was being gawked at by the Prince, Blaise paused his training and, sword in hand, turned to the duo.

"Draco!" the man called out, a smile evident on his chiselled face.

"Hello Blaise," he said quickly in return, hoping Blaise hadn't realised that Draco had been staring at his chest.

Fortunately, Blaise didn't seem to have noticed, as he turned right back to his opponent and continued his broadsword training, looking completely comfortable with a sword and entirely focused. Draco wondered why someone like Blaise couldn't be put as one of his guards—he was sure the soldier fought better than, say, Crabbe. In fact, he would prefer any of men here more than the idiots he was given. Draco decided to suggest this to his father soon.

"So," Pansy said after moments of shameless ogling. She turned to Draco. "What's this whole 'being shot at' business you mentioned?"

Draco shifted his body on the bench sideways—partly to face Pansy, and partly to avoid staring at the training men. "You know how Durmstrang wants me dead?" Draco began bluntly. "I was out on my morning ride, as I always am, you know. Then an arrow comes out of nowhere, intended for me!"

"What?"

"They tried to kill me, Pans," Draco said miserably, slumping his shoulders forward. Living with a death threat was tiring work, Draco decided.

A look of pity dawned on Pansy's face. "Oh, Draco. At least they were a bad shot. You're not hurt," she placated, reaching out and holding Draco's wrist gently.

"No, but Solomon's died instead. The arrow hit him," Draco informed in a bland voice.

"Oh," Pansy said, obviously wondering who on earth Solomon was.

"That was probably the best bit of the afternoon," Draco remarked with a care-free shrug.

"Oh?" Pansy inquired, surprised at Draco's sudden sadistic tendencies. "How so?"

Draco's sigh made it seem like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "When he died, I had a brief moment of hope when I thought it meant I would have one less pest to deal with."

"What do you mean?"

Draco invited Pansy to look at his mini military entourage standing a few feet behind them. Pansy's eyes shot up as she saw six of the largest Slytherin soldiers in the Empire on display before her. All seemed to be sporting looks of utter boredom and indifference. Their faces spoke of no emotion or life. "Pansy, I'd like to introduce you to the banes of my existence. That's Big, Fat, Dull, Incompetent, Useless and My-Life-Exists-To-Make-Draco's-Hell. Boys, meet Pansy."

Pansy gave an unsure smile to the six awkward-looking men, who didn't seem to have understood what Draco had just said.

"Trust me, Pans, Durmstrang wanting my head is _nowhere_ near as bad as these six."

"Surely not—"

"And now, father won't even let me outside the castle boundaries," he said with a sneer. "I have no life." Draco's mind suddenly imagined his life in fifty years. He had become an old, gray-bearded man, rocking forlornly on a rickety wooden chair, surrounded by the same six guards—who hadn't aged one bit, just to spite him—and the horrible Astoria at his side, a smile on her face, simply because Draco was depressed.

"Your father's trying to look out for you, Draco. You _are_ the Prince _and_ Heir," she reminded him.

Draco scowled at her through narrowed eyes. "Pansy, if you really think I don't know that by now ..."

Pansy interrupted him, "Look, your father thinks the world of you, Draco. He changed Slytherin traditions—that have been around for centuries, mind you—just because you said it wasn't fair to have all those responsibilities!"

"I really don't need a lecture from you, thank you very much," Draco said sternly. "And, for your information, he only altered one or two traditions, Pansy. Not all of them. I still have to marry that cow," Draco maintained.

Pansy's face softened. "Oh she is revolting, isn't she?" she agreed sympathetically. "I wonder if she has even a shred of femininity in her."

"Pansy!" Blaise called from the archery range, where a longbow was grasped in his hand.

The duo turned to the topless man once again, and Draco's eyes once again caught on his bulging muscles. He silently begged Blaise to put on a shirt. Honestly, was it necessary to train without as much as a vest? It isn't appropriate to prancing around like a half-naked idiot.

"This one's for you!" the fit knight yelled, as he took the proper stance with a bow and arrow. His left hand was straight and strong jutting out holding the arch of the bow, while his right held the arrow aloft onto the string. He tilted his head a little and brought the thumb of his right hand alongside his cheek.

Draco and Pansy watched intently. Draco could feel that Pansy was holding her breath, wanting desperately for him the hit the centre of the target.

However, in the split second before Blaise's arrow would leave its perch, and Pansy's breath was still held, Draco suddenly cried out in inexplicable pain.

"Ahhhh!" he screamed as he felt the sharp tip of an arrow pierce his obliques.

All heads whipped around at the sound of the Prince's cry, and saw the weapon embedded into his side.

Draco doubled over in pain, clutching his side in agony. He fell off the bench with a loud thud as pain radiated from his wound. It felt like a spear had stabbed his gut and pulled out his intestines, while his lungs were screaming for air. The muscles in his side throbbed wildly, crying out for relieve.

"Draco!" Pansy screamed as she reached down to him.

"Pans—_agh!_" he groaned as wave of agony spread through his entire body. It felt like the nib of the arrow had pierced every muscle he had.

Through his bleary peripherals, he saw a dozen other people running towards him, but he couldn't make out faces. Within seconds, his vision was becoming dizzy, and suddenly it appeared as if Pansy sprung a second head as she peered at him with worry etched on her two faces.

Before he fainted, he heard the sound of another arrow flying through the air, and the resounding _thud!_ as it punctured a body. Thankfully, not his.

-mp-

When Draco awoke, his head felt as if wild monkeys had kicked it around for fun. He winced and brought his hand up to feel his forehead, but stopped short when the motion caused a pain so acute that spiralled out from his right side to the rest of his numb body. He relaxed all his muscles, willing the incessant pain to cease.

"You're Highness," a kind lady's voice said from a few metres away. "How do you feel?"

"Trrble," Draco mumbled, realising he clearly hadn't spoken in a while. The taste in his mouth was foul.

The nurse came closer to him, to the side of his massive bed and smiled down at him. "I imagine so. You had a very interesting day."

Draco would hardly use the word _interesting_ to describe his day. He'd have chosen _cataclysmic_. He painfully swallowed, and was convinced that his saliva had transformed into sandpaper as it slid slowly down his parched throat. "You spoke in the past tense," he rasped. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Just two days, my lord," she answered gently.

Two days wasn't too long, but it was certainly long enough to set his mother in a panicked craze, and his father ...

Draco sighed. The King would probably forbid him from leaving his bloody _room_ now. Nevertheless, he needed to see him. "I need to speak with my father," he ground out.

"But, sire, you're not yet well enough to leave—"

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"But you're still in pain—" she insisted.

"Then bring him here," he said firmly, struggling to sit up and wincing with the pain. "I must speak with him."

"My lord, please!" she said. "Sit still. You'll make it worse."

Draco glared at her with menace. Who was she to tell him what to do?

"What is your name?" he inquired, his voice calm and collected.

The nurse blinked at him, looking terribly hesitant and confused, as if Draco had just asked for her hand in marriage.

"You have a name, don't you?" Draco demeaned.

She quickly nodded and mumbled, "Katrina."

"Well then, Katrina. You have just completely ignored what I've demanded twice now. Do you realise you've just disobeyed your Prince?" he asked, in an overly condescending tone.

Katrina nodded again, her face flushed.

"Do you realise you could be stoned for that?" Draco asked in a fatally calm tone.

She silently replied with a third nod.

"Go now and get my father." Draco's voice was cool and penetrating—a tone he had perfected through years of watching his father use it over and over again.

Draco settled back in his bed while he waited. Minutes later, the doors to the room burst open and a small crowd of people piled in. The first to reach his side was his mother, who automatically cooed at him and petted his hair. Draco impatiently shooed her hand away and looked to his father who stood at the foot of the bed.

"Father."

"Draco," he said, his neck stiff. "It is good to see you are awake and unharmed."

Draco wanted to tell his father that he couldn't exactly move if he didn't want an explosion of pain, but decided it was better to pretend he agreed.

Lucius continued. "It seems the arrow only pierced your side, which, of course, isn't fatal," he said.

"Father—" Draco began.

"Your muscle will take a few weeks to heal properly ..."

"Yes, but father—" Draco tried again, sure his father was only talking to postpone the inevitable conversation.

"Of course, you will be restricted to within the castle itself ..."

"No!" Draco exclaimed.

Finally, the King stopped talking and stared at his son with one perfectly arched eyebrow. Ten or so people surrounded his father, listening intently to the discussion. _Let them hear_, Draco thought.

"I have listened to and obeyed all of your conditions. Extra guards, boundaries; and _still_ I find myself here, in the infirmary, wounded and unable to move properly."  
>Draco heard his mother whimper in fear as she grasped Draco's hand. "Father, clearly those conditions have no bearing on my protection. I beseech you to withdraw them," Draco requested, making sure to show no emotion on his face, keeping his gaze sure and his voice unwavering. It was the perfect image of the future King.<p>

But in front of all those people, Draco knew that his father would not adhere to his wishes. "We had an agreement, Draco," Lucius replied in his own firm tone. "Two weeks. It's only been two days."

Draco barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at his father's stubbornness, but remained still. Lucius then commenced to drive Draco's aggravation to newer heights by placing further restrictions on Draco, forbidding him to leave the Castle itself. The King also commanded that Draco should never be alone, not even in his own room. He placed orders that Draco's manservant must always be with him when his guards could not be.

And with a final flourish, Lucius and his entourage left the room.

Draco could have cried.

-mp-

_Masochistic_ was not a word Draco would use to describe himself.

But for the next twelve days, every time an attempt was made on his life, a gleeful smirk would cross his face. He considered each murder attempt as a slap to his father's face, who continued to demand that Draco have six personal guards.

Draco could not believe the avenues Durmstrang kept finding in getting to Draco. Short of grounding Draco to his room alone, the King could do nothing else to limit where Draco could go. The Royal Court was at a loss.

Twice, there had been poison in Draco's food.

Four more arrows had been aimed at Draco's head (and due to the close quarters, all the archers had been found and beheaded, to the King's delight).

Once, to Draco's complete distress, there was a pair of highly venomous spiders beneath his bed sheets one night. He only found them because, by sheer coincidence, that day happened to be the day when his sheets were due to be changed.

Durmstrang would stop at nothing.

However, despite Draco's short bursts of _I-told-you-so_ happiness, he was also becoming desperate. There didn't seem to be any way to convince his father to reduce the number of his guards and let him live normally.

That wasn't to say Draco didn't try.

When the two-week trial period was up, and the King was about to announce that Draco's current protection system would be permanent, Draco _begged_.

And begged.

And begged.

Draco pleaded for an end to his six-sided cage of guards, while his father was adamant that he still needed protection.

In the end, father and son settled on a compromise.

The King agreed to get rid of his current guards, _if_ Draco agreed that to replace them, a new protector would take up the post.

"Just one?" Draco checked.

"Just one," Lucius confirmed.

However, this one soldier would have to be the _best_.

The strongest, fastest, most intelligent, and—at Draco's request—one with personality.

Draco wondered where they would find such a soldier, when the King decreed, "Send assassins out, both in Slytherin, and the other Kingdoms, to find soldiers who would be worthy to step into this position. The assassins must test their skills, report back to me, and then retrieve them.

"When they all arrive, I will hold a Tournament. A fight to the death. This will determine which one soldier is truly worthy."

By the King's logic, the best soldier in all of the land would win and become Draco's newest one-man security system.

Draco agreed to the deal, only because he was almost completely certain that such a man could not possibly exist.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Back in Hufflepuff, such a man _does_ exist, by the name of Harry._


	12. Bound by Duty, Bound by Love

_A/N: Here's a random note. Just saw a midnight screening of Deathly Hallows part 2! It was absolutely EPIC. Best one of all. If you haven't seen it yet, stop reading fanfiction, turn off your computer, get to your nearest cinema, and watch it … if you're in Australia, at least! For everyone else, you need to wait a few more days! _=D

_On another note, I'm posting 2 chapters in one hit, just because!_

-mp-

Chapter 11

**Bound by Duty, Bound by Love**

The silver of Harry's sword glared in the harsh sunlight as it was swung to and fro expertly, cradled in his fierce grip. An opponent sword parried his blows, desperately trying to keep Harry's attack at bay. An almost inaudible grunt escaped the helmet of his adversary, followed by his acute breathing.

_He's getting tired, _Harry registered instantly, his keen eyes beginning to notice small faults in his foe's footing. Their blades continued to dance together violently, and Harry chose to show no mercy.

Forcing his challenger back, Harry left him with no other options but to defend against the relentless and precise swing of his sword. The other fighter could not get a decent attack in edgewise, and even if he did, it was a fair bet that Harry would deflect it without blinking.

Controlling his breathing and widening his peripherals as he'd always been taught, Harry executed multiple thrusts forward perfectly, leaving his opponent stumped at the accuracy and speed of his attack. Harry almost grinned; he was in his element and enjoying every moment of it. His enemy did not stand a chance. Harry rarely lost a fight.

"Yield!" Harry commanded, knowing that it was foolish for his rival to refuse.

"Never!" cried the other man valiantly.

"Then you shall die!" Harry warned threateningly, forcing his opponent back rapidly. This caused the other swordsman to lose his balance and fall, letting go of his sword in the process so that it clattered in the dirt more than an arm's reach away. Harry forced his excitement down. Winning a duel had always filled him with a unique sense of exhilaration and euphoria.

Carefully, Harry positioned the tip of his blade in the sliver of a gap between his challenger's helmet and breastplate. "_Now_ do you yield?" Harry asked, a smirk lining his lips.

The fallen man lifted his hand and pulled off his helmet, revealing a shock of red hair.

"Alright, alright! Get off your high horse, you great prat!" Ron shouted, "You don't have to let everyone from here to the Empire know that you're better than me. And get that blasted thing away from me," Ron laughed, flinging the sword tip away from his face.

Harry dropped his weapon, took off his own helmet and offered a hand to his friend. Grasping his hand, Ron stood up.

They both breathed heavily for a moment, smiling at their friendly brawl.

"One day ..." Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry grinned broadly. "One day, what? One day you'll win? Haven't given up yet, have you?"

"There's only so much battering my pride can take, Harry," Ron replied, shaking his head in amusement, "And I am determined to restore it. I've defeated every other knight in Hufflepuff in a duel. It's just you that's left. It's only a matter of time."

"Well ... perhaps if we were jousting, you'd win," Harry said with a smile, knowing his skill was greater even with a lance.

Ron gave him a dead-pan look. "Now you're just insulting me. You know, Harry, pride always comes before the fall."

Harry laughed. "Oh good, something to look forward to then," he teased.

Ron rushed at him and together they tumbled to the ground in a clash of arms and armour.

Their tussle lasted briefly, before a voice called to them from the distance.

"Harry! Ron!" They looked up from the fallen positions and saw a kind man with light brown hair and simple clothes beckoning to them. A gentle smile was pasted on his tired and slightly disfigured face. The young men righted themselves.

Harry smiled back at him. "Remus!" he shouted, walking over. "What bring you to the barracks training grounds? It's not really somewhere I'd expect to see you." Harry grinned, playfully slapping his mentor's shoulder with gusto.

"I'll have you know I was known to fight in a duel or two in my day," Remus defended himself, shrugging Harry's hand off. "With your father mostly ... and ... well, others too," he said dismissively.

Harry caught the glimpse of a frown on Remus' face but it vanished before the thought even registered.

"But that's neither here nor there," Remus said, waving his hand back and forth, "Shacklebolt wants to see you both."

"Why?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure. I was just in town and he was there also. Told me to pass the message on to you."

"Has he called for any of the other knights?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so. He said he only wanted his best," Remus said, gesturing to the two young men in front of him.

Ron puffed up proudly, while Harry looked concerned. "Why? Something must be the matter."

"Obviously, yes. But I haven't a clue as to what that is, so I suggest you report to your Captain. I'm merely the messenger."

Harry nodded with a businesslike frown. In these unstable times, Shacklebolt could want them for any number of reasons. Trying to guess what it was would be a waste of time. "Alright. We leave immediately. Ron, grab your sword. Remus, I'll see you tonight," he grunted quickly, before making his way to his horse. Ron hastened to follow.

Remus waved. "See you tonight."

-mp-

"Harry, Ron, I need the two of to play bodyguard," Shacklebolt grunted, looking as displeased as ever. His face was contorted as if someone was spoon feeding him horse dung. His countenance normally was only marginally better, so Harry and Ron were used to his usual sour expression of his face. After all they had spent the last six years training under this man. Shacklebolt was a strict and harsh Captain, but he had the loyalty and respect of all his soldiers. Harry knew that he would not refuse him the task he and Ron were about to be given.

"Bodyguard, sir?" Ron asked.

"To the Ravenclaw party that will arrive here later today," he almost spat in distaste.

Harry's eyebrows frowned. "Sir?" he prompted.

The black-haired young man heard a distinct mutter of "_despicable_" before Shacklebolt continued in a disgusted voice, "An entourage of nobles and royals from Ravenclaw seek council with the Professor and the rest of the Hufflepuff Elders. However, they have requested personal bodyguards—from Hufflepuff—while they are here to ensure no one of their party gets harmed or attacked here. Woe be it on us if they got a scratch from the coarse Hufflepuff timber," sarcasm sticking to every word. The Captain muttered to himself again, "... give them the service of my best men, they said ... unbelievable ..."

Harry's confusion persisted. "Sir, why do they want the extra protection? What does Hufflepuff have against Ravenclaw that they would harm their nobles? We share a common enemy in the Empire. If anything, we must unite against Slytherin," Harry reasoned with an irritation frown.

"Be that as it may, I have orders," the Captain said gruffly.

"In times such as these, one can never be too cautious," a frail old voice spoke from behind them. "If Ravenclaw wants security, Kingsley, they must have it, even from an ally."

Albus Dumbledore, known to all as the Professor, leaned again a wooden post of the dusty old weapons room in the barracks. He smiled kindly at the three soldiers, all dressed in Hufflepuff armour, eyes glinting from behind half-moon spectacles. His wiry white hair fell from both his head and chin, sitting on top of heavy navy blue robes.

Harry stared at the old man whom he loved dearly. Having never known his parents, Harry had always thought of Dumbeldore and Remus as his family. And Ron, of course. But he had always felt a special connection with the Professor and Remus. The pair both had known his parents and loved them. He owed his upbringing to them.

He smiled at the ageing man. "Hello, Professor."

"Sir," Ron said, nodding his head in greeting.

"Boys," the Professor nodded in return to the young men.

Harry turned back to Shacklebolt. "What are we expected to do for them?"

"Whatever it is they want, I suppose. Follow her around with a parasol if she asks," he hissed.

"_Her_, sir?" Harry asked, wondering who he was referring to.

"The Princess," Shacklebolt clarified distractedly.

The Professor put a kind old hand on Shacklebolt's tense arm. His very touch seemed to calm the enraged captain. "The Ravenclaw scouts have just reached us. The rest will be here shortly. Arthur, Diggory and I will meet them at the gates," he said. And with an amused smirk, he mentioned, "I expect you both to be there as well. I beg you not be late," he grinned at the young soldiers.

Harry and Ron had the grace to look a little sheepish. They had a reputation for tardiness. Shacklebolt had always chastised them that if they spent as much time being aware of the hour than in their sword fighting, they would be even more punctual than the Professor. Harry had always responded with an impatient sigh.

Twenty minutes later, armours gleaming, swords sheathed, freshly shaven and—to a degree—hair washed, Harry and Ron stood at attention at the city gates. Before them stood the representatives of the Elders of Hufflepuff, and Shacklebolt.

Harry's vision was narrowed through his metal helmet visor but he kept what little view he had trained on the growing cloud of dust on the horizon.

Ravenclaw had arrived.

Their party was huge for a mere council meeting. By the size of the horde, Harry would have thought they wanted to attack. At least twenty men on horseback, another thirty on foot, a handful of scouts, and in the centre of the small crowd, a young royal atop a marvellous chestnut steed. Interspersed throughout the procession, banners and flags of blue and yellow flew in the warm breeze, all depicting the mighty image of a hunting eagle. As they neared, Harry was shocked to find that the Princess at the centre of the party was younger than he had expected her to be—approximately his own age—but he did well to keep his surprise in check. Ron didn't fare so well as he. Beside him, his friend sucked in a breath and Harry knew he had become as strung up as a bow as the young female royal approached them.

Harry resisted the urgent need to laugh.

Ron was already completely besotted with her.

Harry began to comprehend the many ways to mock and tease Ron of this unlikely infatuation, and the exponentially slim chance of them even courting. _A lowly Hufflepuff knight and a Ravenclaw Princess. That would be the day. _ His amusing thoughts were stopped when the Professor spoke up.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff, my Lady."

"Thank you, Professor," she greeted amiably, her soft voice carrying over to the two young soldiers. Harry felt Ron's shoulder stiffen even more.

"I trust your journey was safe."

"Safe, yes. Long, most certainly. I am glad we have arrived at length."

"In that case, let us not tarry. We have a banquet prepared for you in the Hall. Your bodyguards, as per insisted, will lead you to your quarters. Join us for dinner when it pleases you, my lady. We seek only your comfort," Dumbledore said kindly, eyes ever-twinkling.

At the mention of his duty, Harry stirred and shook Ron surreptitiously to move with him towards the Ravenclaw horses.

Shacklebolt spoke up: "Our stables are located just to the left, over there. You may leave your horses to the care of our stable hands. I am sure they are weary." Harry sensed disgust in every word, though nobody else noticed.

"Thank you, Captain," the Princess said again, before nodding to the leader of her own military guard, who was perched on a huge black horse. The Ravenclaw Captain nodded once and the cavalry alighted and allowed their horses to be led.

Harry lifted his visor when he had neared the Princess, observing her properly. He could see why Ron was so stirred. She truly was beautiful, with long, brown hair that framed her small face with its waves and curls. She looked very delicate in her royal blue robes, her pale skin a sharp contrast to her attire. He noticed her small hands that grasped her reigns tightly, as if she didn't want to get off her horse. Or, Harry thought, perhaps she wasn't used to riding horses and was frightened of the steed beneath her.

All these thoughts rushed through his head before he knelt before her and said, "My Lady." Out of his peripherals, he noticed Ron bowing as well. "Harry, knight of Hufflepuff, at your service," he introduced himself, deliberately leaving out the _Sir_ that should be placed before his name. He abhorred that title. It made him sound old.

Ron muttered likewise next to him.

The Princess laughed lightly. The sound was sweet. "All this nonsense is a little too formal for my liking, wouldn't you agree? I beg you to simply call me Hermione."

Harry blinked. Ron glanced at him unsurely. This was unexpected. Call a royal by her first name? Was this a test? He was caught in an unanticipated situation and hoped his next words were the right ones, "Please, my Lady. We would not be comfortable were that so."

The Princess looked as if she were used to being told that, but yet, she smiled playfully, "If that is what you wish, Sir Knight."

Harry narrows his eyes slightly and suspected she called him that on purpose, but let it pass.

Ron, surprisingly, was the next to speak. "Your Highness, allow us to lead you to your quarters. Your soldiers are to follow, as well. Their rooms are next to yours."

"Yes thank you," she said, as she hesitantly readied herself to gently kick her heels and get her horse moving. Harry saw her swallow nervously. He had been right in thinking the Princess was not comfortable on a horse.

Ron must have noticed also. Gallantly, he took the lower reigns of her steed. "Allow me, Princess," he said genially. She nodded gratefully and Ron led her horse through the town, with a proud look on his face.

Harry had to turn his face away to crack a large smile.

-mp-

"She's gorgeous," Ron sighed, letting his head drop back on the wooden post he was leaning against outside the Lady Hermione's rooms.

After leading the Lady to her quarters and making sure she was comfortable, Harry and Ron left to ready themselves for the banquet that night. They took care to ensure their appearance was adequate enough to appear in a hall with some the lands leading royals and leaders. For the special occasion, both soldiers were required to wear the esteemed regalia of honorary Hufflepuff soldiers, consisting of a black tunic lined at the arms and neck with thin yellow hems, black boots, their sword belts and a long black robe on the outside. The Hufflepuff crest, on the top right hand corner of the tunic, was very visible. Harry detested the formality and thought that he looked completely ridiculous in his attire. He felt much more comfortable in his everyday armour, and wished Shacklebolt would allow them to wear that instead.

Ron, Harry noticed, took extra care in his effort to clean himself up. He bathed—twice—and shined his sword until he was certain he could see his own dashing reflection in it. Harry teased his friend endlessly and made Ron promise him that he would make Harry the best man at the wedding. He was rewarded with a shove.

They now stood outside the Princess' rooms, under the moonlit night, waiting to escort her personally to the banquet.

"I heard you the first dozen times," Harry grumbled, stretching his back and hearing a satisfying crick. He wanted to be sitting down and enjoying what was supposed to be his night off from duty.

"Come, man, admit it," Ron insisted, a love struck grin permanently pasted on his face.

"I admit it," Harry indulged him.

Ron did not believe this to be assurance enough and loudly coaxed for more. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw such beauty. Did you see her, Harry?"

"_Yes_ I saw her, Ron, and for goodness sake, lower your voice. She'll hear you," Harry chastised, glancing up at the lit up window above them.

"Let her. Let everyone hear that I find her to be the most exquisite creature on this earth," Ron proclaimed loudly.

Harry sighed at his friend's melodrama and slapped a hand to his forehead in irritation. Silence reigned for a moment before Harry impatiently blurted, "For crying out loud, how long does it take to get ready?"

"Why don't you like her, Harry?" Ron asked, not having payed attention to Harry's outburst.

"I never said I didn't, Ron," Harry said shortly.

"But you don't find her attractive."

"I never said that. She's very attractive," Harry agreed with his friend, half to make him shut up. "It's just that you obviously are more appreciative of her than I am."

Ron tilted his head in confusion before a look of realisation crossed his featured. "Ah ... I see ... Ginny," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ginny?" Harry echoed in puzzlement. "What's your sister got to do with it?"

"Well ... you obviously like her. That's why you're not giving the Princess a second thought," Ron reasoned.

Harry stared at Ron, almost wondering who he was. "Do you know me at all?" Harry asked rhetorically, and then continued on without waiting for Ron to speak. "Look, for the record, yes I do like Ginny, but as a close friend and sister, and second, I _have_ given Hermione a second thought, otherwise what on earth am I doing here?" Harry whispered harshly.

"Following orders. See this is the fundamental difference between us, Harry. _You're_ bound by duty, _I'm_ bound by love," Ron explained generously, "and you should call her Princess or at least Lady Hermione."

Harry blinked at Ron and shook his head in irritation. "I'm talking to you, Ron! What does it matter what I call her when I'm talking to you?"

"Not too loudly, Harry, she'll hear you," Ron whispered.

"Oh, _now_ I'm too loud! Merlin help me, you're infuriating when you're in love!" accused Harry, breathing a little harder. His temper had soared as he pictured the million other things he would prefer to be doing than sitting here waiting for a Princess to put on her dress and escort her to dinner. _He wasn't Hufflepuff's best swordsman for this_, he mused a little arrogantly.

"I apologise if I kept you waiting," came the Princess' voice from the doorway.

Filled with the guilt of one caught red-handed, Harry turned and paused. The Lady was certainly a sight to see. If Harry thought she was attractive while on her horse earlier, it was nothing to compared to the beauty before him now.

In a deep purple dress than hugged her in the right places, and puffed out from the waist down, Lady Hermione was stunning, and Harry felt terrible for accusing her of taking her time. It was well worth it. The dress fell to the floor hiding what were sure to be expensive and elegant shoes. A shawl was wrapped around her arms that were half wrapped in elbow-length white gloves, doing little to prevent the cold chill that wafted through the air. A thin golden circlet, studded with tiny violet jewels, was placed gently on her soft hair, which was let completely loose in curls around her modestly made-up face.

Harry wasted a thought for his friend. If Harry was stopped short at the image Lady Hermione made, he hated to think how his friend was faring. To save Ron the embarrassment of talking or even moving, Harry spoke first.

With a deep bow, he said, "My Lady, you look beautiful," meaning every word. He saw Ron nod frantically from his side.

The Princess smiled. "Thank you, gentlemen. You both look very handsome yourselves."

Harry was sure she was simply being polite. He knew, for a fact, that his hair was a mess. And he felt awkward dressed in his attire. Nonetheless, he acknowledged her compliment with a nod.

Ron's sense returned to him then, and, being as suave as possible, extended his hand to her. She placed her gloved hand in his and Ron brought it to his lips. Harry clearly saw her blush, and looked to the ground. "Hufflepuff awaits you, my Lady," Ron said.

And together, the three walked on, Harry and Ron flanking the Princess on either side.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: While alone, Harry is attacked by an unknown assassin._


	13. Under Pressure

_A/N: As promised, a quick update!_

-mp-

Chapter 12

**Under Pressure**

Dinner with royalty became very tedious very quickly, and Harry soon began to look for ways to sneak out. The task proved to be difficult.

For one thing, Ron would not stop annoying him with incessant praise of the Ravenclaw princess ("Look at the way she holds her fork! Oh, Harry!"), and he almost wished the Lady would put him out of his misery, but he could tell that she was just as interested in Ron as he was her. He sighed at their hopeless situation, for such a relationship would be severely frowned on.

For another, Ginny, Ron's younger sister, who had harboured a fancy for Harry since the dawn of time, kept sending him shy but hopeful glances from across the hall, and giggling whenever he smiled at her in what he hoped was a brotherly fashion. Harry didn't want to send the girl the wrong signals but she seemed to take his hesitant smiles as his declaration of love for her. To be honest, Harry thought she was rather silly, but chose not to tell Ron, or any of her other five older brothers.

To add to Harry's irritation, Shacklebolt kept sending him death glares from his position at the Elders table. Harry did not know why but assumed it was nothing of his fault, and all of Shacklebolt's despise at having to sit through the dinner itself. He was never one for keeping up appearances.

Still, the food was excellent. Harry attempted to block out Ron's babbling, Ginny's giggling and Shacklebolt's staring by consuming as much roast lamb and wine as possible.

The fates must have been laughing at his predicament though. Each time he reached for his wine goblet, he felt the slight tug of his sword belt. He stared longingly at his weapon hanging uselessly from his side. It was cruel: to be so close to his weapon yet so far from wielding it. He wished he could be training. Fighting made him feel good, and forget about everything else. Whenever the sword was in his hand and swinging at his foe, Harry felt whole. He craved the feel of the steel, and marvelled at the power he had when he used it. He was truly the master of the sword and everybody knew it.

"Harry!" called a female voice from across the hall, jerking him out of his daydream. He turned and saw Ginny surrounded by at least five other girls, all with their hands covering their mouths and giggling like mad. Apparently, calling his name was funny. Harry didn't have the slightest clue as to which girl yelled his name, but he would wager it was done as an effort to embarrass both Ginny and Harry.

"Oh look, Ginny's looking over here," Ron said naively. Harry was surprised that Ron had turned his attentions away from the princess to notice this.

"Why does she do it?"

"You're looking at her too, you know. She knows you fancy her, and she's just trying to get your attention," Ron said lucidly.

From that moment, Harry made an effort not to look at Ginny, let alone smile at her.

Ron continued, "So when are you going to ... you know ... " he let his voice trail off.

Harry tried to stab a broccoli on his plate. "What?"

Ron shrugged him. "You know."

"I don't, Ron," Harry sighed impatiently. He knew what Ron was about to ask but prayed earnestly that he wouldn't.

"Tell her," Ron said.

"Tell who what?" Harry asked. He was pushing his luck.

"Merlin, Harry. Stop being so dense. When are you going to tell Ginny you fancy her?" Ron said clearly, so that Harry could not find another meaning to his question.

Harry resisted the urge to slam his forehead to the table before him.

Ginny. The bane of Harry's existence. Half of Hufflepuff had already planned their wedding, and he didn't possess an ounce of romantic tendencies for her. He could count the number of times the two of them had even had a decent conversation on one hand. She usually erupted in a burst of giggles, and blushed so red that Harry was under the impression that her head might explode from all the blood pounding into it. And that was only when they actually start a conversation. Most of the time, she looked at him as if stunned and walked in the opposite direction. Luna, Ginny's close friend, once told Harry that it's because he often has a team of nargles floating around his head, and Ginny doesn't want to get infected with them too.

"I dunno. Can you pass the potatoes?" Harry said cleverly.

Ron distractedly handed the bowl over. "I overheard mother asking Ginny whether she wants lavenders or tulips at the wedding."

Harry blinked.

"Ron, your mother does know that I haven't proposed to her, yes?"

"Oh sure. But no one cares about that sort of thing nowadays. The deed is as good as done. I should be congratulating you, really," Ron laughed and slapped Harry on the back.

Harry felt ill. He wanted nothing more than to go outside.

"I need some air. See you later, yeah?"

Ron looked baffled. "Yeah, alright. See you." His gaze automatically went to the princess and a love-struck expression contorted his face once more.

Harry rushed past the inquisitive stares of the crowd but didn't stop long enough to notice much else. He was about to burst out through the back doors onto a large grand balcony but as luck would have it, he was suddenly stopped by one of the people he would have least liked to see right then. Ron's father.

"Sir," Harry said immediately, through gritted teeth.

"Harry, I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

Harry tensed and vainly fought for an excuse to say no but knew he couldn't. It would be impolite, and even if Ron's father said anything that might trigger his temper, Mr Weasley was one of those blissfully ignorant sort of men who would forget about it in a week's time.

"Certainly. You don't mind if we go outside, though? I'm in need of a little cool air," Harry requested.

"Oh yes, yes," agreed Mr Weasley before heading to the nearest doors. Harry followed him outside. He felt relieved to feel the chilly air hitting his skin, and cooling his body. His Hufflepuff robes had left him feeling suffocated.

He turned to Ron's father. "You wanted to say something, sir?"

"Ah, yes," he said, as if he had already forgotten. He shook his red head briefly before focusing his gaze on Harry. "My wife has recently bought something to my attention."

He paused as if waiting for Harry to acknowledge this. "Yes?"

"Right. Well, she said that you have designs on marrying my Ginerva. Now, on this matter—"

Harry jumped in immediately. "Mr Weasley, please. I don't—"

"Oh there's no need to be shy, son. We're all family. Well, almost anyway. I merely called you out here to tell you that you have my blessing. My Ginny has made a fine match, if I may say so. The pair or you will make a delightful couple!"

This was the final nail in the coffin of tonight's frustrations, and Harry forced himself to take a very deep breath. He almost began his lengthy reply of denial. But he paused. What could he possibly say to this kind, perplexed, and most of all, ecstatic man? He could imagine it: "Sorry sir, but I don't actually like your daughter in that way." It would crush his heart, not to mention his wife's.

So Harry said the only thing he could say. "Thank you, sir," was all he could say, while his right hand clasped his sword hilt tightly. He felt horrible. "If you'll excuse me, sir," he said with a firm nod of the head.

"Oh, yes, of course ... son," Mr Weasley chuckled.

Acknowledging him a short smile, Harry walked away into the darkened gardens behind the hall. Blissfully, there was nobody here, and there were no lights or lamps to invite anyone, so Harry revelled in a few guaranteed moments alone.

He unsheathed his sword, enjoying the feeling of its sure and steady weight in his right hand. He executed a long series of thrusts and parries tirelessly, releasing all his pent up aggravation. Within minutes, he felt sweat leak down the side of his face but he did not stop.

The bright lights of the hall faded away, the sounds of laughter died out and all talk of weddings were drowned. They were replaced with the heavy twangs of Harry's sword flying threateningly through the night. Breathing deeper now, Harry began to slow down, knowing it wouldn't be appropriate to go back into the hall looking as if he had just fought a war.

After stopping his movements completely, he was startled by a soft voice behind him.

"Don't stop on my account, please," Lady Hermione said.

"My Lady." Harry bowed immediately, short of breath. "What are you doing here? The party is inside."

She sighed. "I know. I came here to get away from it. Too many people, too much talk of war and allies. I'll never forgive my father for sending me on such a political mission." She smiled at Harry. "Don't misunderstand me, I love it here, but I dislike politics. I wish I could simply come here to visit and enjoy the company without an ulterior motive." She paused for a long minute, and Harry looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. She misunderstood his look of confusion and added, "And once again, I find myself speaking too much."

"No no, please. I am merely thinking that ... perhaps I was wrong," Harry explained. The Lady's revelation seemed to oppose his first impressions.

"Wrong? In what way?" she implored.

"Well, for one, I thought you were really enjoying the party," he said.

"Some bits of it. But the Elders would talk my ear off about the alliance between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw," she sighed, sitting down on a stone bench. "Sometimes I wish life were simpler."

Harry walked towards her. "Wouldn't you miss the adventure?"

"Adventure, yes. War, certainly not."

"War?" Harry asked. "Are you talking about the Empire?" Harry knew Slytherin had plans for war and was recently engaged in heavy warfare with kingdoms from across the Eastern Sea, but little else.

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "It's always Slytherin. We don't know what they're planning, which makes it difficult to act."

When Harry didn't reply, she quickly said, "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear—"

"No, please, my Lady. I do want to. I'm merely surprised you are caught up in all this. You don't seem the type."

Lady Hermione smiled. "I look like someone who enjoys sipping tea all day long, sitting in elegant carriages, and wearing dresses like this one, don't I?"

Harry laughed. "I confess I was thinking that."

"Merlin, no. This dress is murder!" she said, putting her hands on her unnaturally pulled-in waistline.

Their laughter filled the garden for a few moments. Harry felt infinitely better than when the night began, and was glad for this chance to become better acquainted with the princess. He didn't think of her as a snob anymore.

She was the next to speak. "I suppose I must return before they begin wondering where I am."

"Actually, I've been meaning to ask you, my Lady. How on earth did you escape Ron?"

Her blush changed the pallor of her face extraordinarily, and Harry knew he was correct in assuming that she possessed a similar affection for his friend.

"Everyone thinks I am currently in the restrooms," she grinned.

"Clever," Harry complimented.

She smiled her thanks. "Well ... it was good to talk to you, Sir Harry. I am glad I know you better, and you me," she said kindly.

"Please, Lady, call me Harry. Just Harry."

"Well, then Just Harry, call me Hermione. Do we have a deal?"

Harry laughed softly, and agreed. Hermione gathered her skirts, and headed back to the banquet, leaving Harry alone once more in the dark garden.

For a few minutes, he sat on the stone bench. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and he began to make out the shapes of different plants, and the gazebo in the corner.

Suddenly, his skin prickled. Harry felt the presence of another person watching him. Focusing his low-light vision, Harry tried to make sense of his suspicion. Instinct told him to grab onto his sword once again. His muscles tensed, anticipating the arrival of another person who may or may not be friend. Blood pounding with excitement and expectation, he stilled.

A rustle of trees to his left, made him turn sharply.

He heard twigs being snapped, as if someone was stepping on them.

"Show yourself!" Harry ordered.

As expected, nothing answered him. However, he didn't have to wait long before the intruder made himself known.

"Argh!" With a shout, a figure jumped out from the tress, dressed entirely in black, holding a long silver sword.

Harry didn't allow himself or the prowler the time to be surprised. He tightened his grip on his blade and planted his feet on the ground to block the mighty swing from his opponent. They collided with a jarring clash of steel, and Harry realised in that split-second that the fighter was strong and knew very well how to handle a sword.

Unfazed, Harry turned and thrust his sword at the man, who parried back, and delivered another spectacular swing. When Harry tried to raise his arm to block the bow, he cursed at the heavy robes he was wearing. They were confining his movement, and he wished he had taken off the outer garment earlier. Forced to block his opponent's thrust at a lower angle than hoped, Harry lost momentum and found himself taking a few steps back to recollect himself.

Harry took that time to try and get a good look at the man he was fighting. But he was covered from head to toe in black attire, except for his eyes. There were no markings as to alert him of where he had come. Or why. Harry had no idea what this man wanted.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded sharply. "Why are you here?"

The black figure didn't respond, but advanced once again. Quick as a blink, Harry's left hand reached to unclasp his outer robe, and as he moved towards the fighter, it fell away and Harry felt liberated.

As much as Harry would have wanted to show this man a piece of his mind by crippling him, he fought easy. Unaware of the intruder's intentions, Harry decided to give him a chance. In between blows, Harry asked questions.

_Thrust. Parry._

"What do you want?"

No response.

_Swing. Jab. Evade._

"Who are you?"

_Strike. Turn. Duck._

"Look, I'm not going to fight unless I know who you are!" Harry shouted.

The stranger didn't reply and continued to fight. Harry was sick of doing nothing but blocking. So he stopped his sword for a moment and glared at the eye slit of his opponent, trying to seek reason.

The black figure was ruthless and lunged forward, nicking Harry's right arm, cutting through his tunic, and jabbing into a few layers of skin.

"Akh!" Harry grunted in pain.

The hand grasping his sword slackened.

Acute pain coursed through his body from the wound and Harry gasped, unable to believe the man's lack of chivalry.

_That's it. _

"You asked for it," Harry warned.

Unrelenting, Harry switched his sword to his left hand and advanced. He didn't allow the black-clad figure any chances. Attack after attack, the Hufflepuff knight executed his finest moves brilliantly despite having to use his weaker arm. Harry knew the instant when the intruder realised he was losing. His sword twitched and lost focus. Harry's sword, on the other hand, made contact with unprotected flesh a few times. Harry delivered another final set of punishing blows, before the other fighter dropped his sword and fell down, clutching his sides where he was pierced and in pain.

Harry towered over him, and was about to jerk off the man's mask, when—

"Harry!" Remus called from behind. "What are you doing?"

Harry turned and stepped back from the fallen man.

"Remus! This man. He just ... started fighting me," Harry said, breathing hard.

That was all the time the black figure needed before getting up and sprinting into the darkness, albeit with a slight limp in his left leg, where Harry's sword had made its mark. Harry took after him, ignoring Remus' cries. He was less than five metres behind him, but in this darkness, Harry could barely make him out. Trees and plants cut against his face. He stumbled out of the garden, seconds behind the figure.

But Harry was too late. He saw the man sprint towards a dark horse that seemed to be anxiously awaiting his return. His mount onto the horse was effortless, and before Harry even reached them, they were galloping fast. Within a minute, they were specks on the horizon and Harry knew he wouldn't have a chance to chase him.

Forlorn at the thought of fight unfinished, Harry returned to Remus.

"What on earth is going on here?"

"I have no idea," Harry breathed, taking a seat on the stone bench. "He literally just jumped out of the bushes and started fighting—"

"Harry, your arm!"

Harry, as if only just remembering his right upper arm was bleeding and in pain, grasped it tightly. Blood had seeped through his robes and began to paint his fingers. "It's nothing. He just nicked it."

"More like stabbed it. Let me see."

"Remus, it's noth—"

"Let me see you arm," Remus ordered, refusing to listen to Harry's feeble denial.

Slouching and muttering, Harry released his right arm and extended it towards his guardian, wincing at the effort of keeping it aloft. His muscles begged him to lower his arm. Remus quickly grabbed onto it and looked closer, as if the intruder's identity was embedded on Harry's arm.

Remus said, "Can you take off your tunic? I'd like to look at the wound itself."

Harry was about to refuse once more but then weighed his options. _Either let Remus see the injury now and be done with it; or go back inside the hall, have everyone gawk at my appearance and capture the attention of the medics._ Harry knew he hardly looked presentable to be seen by the Lady Hermione's side.

Looking around to determine the garden was empty, Harry reached to undo the clasps of his tunic that ran vertically on the left side of his chest. It was difficult to do so one-handed, but chose not to ask for Remus' help to undo his clothes, deeming it far too embarrassing. He wasn't five years old anymore.

"Do you want me to help?" Remus offered when Harry's large fingers began fiddling with his buttons, to little avail.

"No," Harry grunted stubbornly.

Eventually, the buttons were all unclasped. But then Harry could no longer avoid the inevitable. "Can you help me take it off?" Harry asked through a clenched jaw, knowing it would be impossible for him to lift it off without further exacerbating his arm.

Remus gave him an _I told you so_ look.

Carefully, he peeled Harry's attire off his chest and arms, leaving Harry in his black vest with his arms bare, showing off the deep red wound of his right upper arm. Harry sucked in a breath when he saw it. He hadn't thought it was that bad. Immediately, anger towards the intruder surfaced again like a tidal wave, amplified by the ignorance of his identity, his homeland, and most of all, his motive.

Remus said, "I see..." and began to gently twist Harry's arm this way and that, observing it from all angles.

"Am I a terrible fighter, Remus?" Harry asked suddenly.

Remus paused in his inspection and stared at his ward as if Harry was suddenly sprouted a second head on his shoulders.

"Merlin, Harry, what a stupid question," Remus muttered, and went back to his work.

"I couldn't even find out who he is," Harry reasoned.

"That's because I called out to you. Really, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

Harry ignored Remus. "I should have had a better hold of him."

Remus stopped once again and looked at the young man he considered his own son. "Harry, we can play the 'what if' game forever. Let's just stick to the facts. What exactly happened here?"

"Nothing! He came, we fought, he escaped. End of story," Harry said exasperated.

Sighing, Remus practiced patience. "What happened before he arrived?"

"I was with Lady Hermione. She came to me and we talked a little. The intruder arrived just after she left to go back inside," Harry explained.

"Perhaps the intruder was after the Princess?" Remus guessed.

"But then why would he attack after she went inside? Even if he got through me, he wasn't exactly going to barge right into the hall, kill everyone and take Hermione."

"_Hermione_, Harry?" Remus smirked.

"We agreed to first-name basis, and stop smirking, Remus, it doesn't suit you. Now can we please get back to the intruder?"

"Not yet. First I need to dress this wound before it becomes infected. Come, we must go home and retrieve my medic kit. We'll only be gone for a few minutes." Remus stood and pulled Harry up as well.

On the road home, Remus brought up one of his favourite topics of conversation: Harry's love life. _Because nothing else can be _so_ interesting_, Harry thought sardonically. He didn't know why everyone else was more obsessed with his personal life than he was. He assumed Remus only brought it up because he enjoyed making Harry uncomfortable and red in the face. In this way, Harry and Remus had more of a friend-to-friend relationship, rather than son to father.

"Do you like _Hermione_, then, Harry?" Remus smiled, emphasising the princess' first name, to Harry's great annoyance.

"Even if I did, I doubt Ron would let me get near her with a ten-foot pole," Harry chuckled.

"Ah yes, dear Ronald," Remus sighed amusedly. "I don't think even he realises how much in love with her he already is."

Harry laughed.

Remus asked again, "Well then, Harry, what of his sister? Ginerva?"

"Ginny?" Harry said, "For some reason, everyone seems to believe we're engaged. Honestly, Remus, I can't even talk to her properly. I'd rather give my sword arm than spend my married life with a wife who bursts into giggles every time she sees my face," Harry said sourly, but pleased he was confiding his thoughts. Remus was the only person he could say this to. Ron and his brothers would murder him, and anyone else close enough in Harry's life wouldn't do anything about it. Remus was the perfect candidate, and Harry knew Remus would never divulge any of Harry's thoughts.

Before Remus could ask another question, Harry turned the tables.

"What of you, my wise old guardian?"

"Old?" Remus said affronted.

"Well, old_er_," Harry corrected with a smirk. "Go on then, answer the question."

Remus smiled. "What question? Whether or not I fancy anyone?"

Harry laughed. "Yes."

"No, Harry. I've had my hands full for twenty years now, looking after you. How am I to find the time to woo someone?" Remus chuckled as if the thought itself was humorous.

"Has there never _been_ anyone? Before I was born?"

Remus quietened down, a sombre expression flashing across his face. After a minute of silence, Harry was beginning to think Remus hadn't heard him at all and was about to prompt him. Just then, however, Remus replied with, "No, Harry. Never."

His answer was so quiet and filled with sadness, Harry regretted ever asking.

The rest of their journey home was silent.

When they neared their home, near the western border of Hufflepuff's town centre, Harry noticed their neighbour—a quiet, foreboding man if he ever saw one—outside in his small garden, collecting herbs and unusual plants he used to concoct curious medicines to diseases that Harry hadn't heard of elsewhere. When he was young, Harry would always ask his neighbour the names of all the plants and their uses. The neighbour always replied with gritted teeth as if spending even the smallest amount of time in Harry's presence was detrimental. Over the years, Harry had less and less contact with the man, learning that he does not really like Harry, and had the same contempt for Remus.

"Lupin," the man said with a snarl as Remus and Harry neared. "I have your medicine here." He reached into his black robes and pulled out a tiny vial and handed it to Remus.

Among the strange medicines their neighbour made, Harry knew that Remus required one of them. He had always known this, but didn't know what disease Remus had. His guardian assured him it wasn't contagious, but that it was an illness that was life-long and forced him to leave Harry for a day, once every few weeks. In the twenty years Harry had lived with Remus, he came to accept it as normal and no longer questioned his guardian.

Remus nodded towards their neighbour. "Thank you, Severus."

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Harry realises he wasn't the only one attacked by an assassin, and wonders who they are and where they're from. He also overhears a conversation about his past that will change his life._


	14. Whispers

Chapter 13

**Whisper****s**

"So you think the assassin was after the Princess, then?" Harry asked Remus on the way back to the banquet. Their stop at home was brief—merely the time it took for Remus to bandage Harry's upper right arm and feed him a medicine to deal with the pain. Harry then struggled to fit his black tunic back on.

"It's a suggestion."

"We should keep it quiet, Remus," Harry suggested.

"Quiet? Harry, surely the Elders need to know, let alone the party from Ravenclaw—"

"Yes, but if we tell everybody, it will start an uproar. Think of the consequences: Hufflepuff will blame Ravenclaw for bringing trouble, and Ravenclaw will accuse us of not keeping our borders secure. The last thing we need is to fight amongst ourselves," Harry said. "The whole point of these meetings in the first place is to strengthen our front against the Empire ..." Harry trailed off as a thought sprouted in his mind. "Hang on. What if he was from Slytherin?" he posed.

"Who?"

"The intruder; the one I fought. It must be."

"Motive?" Remus asked.

Harry looked incredulously at his guardian. "Honestly. They have motive enough, if only for the fact that the entire Empire is spawned of the devil! I wouldn't put it past them."

Remus gave a long-suffering sigh. "Harry, where has your life-long hatred of Slytherin originated from? Ever since you could pick up a sword and have fights with imaginary opponents, you swore it was always a Slytherin you were fighting."

A pensive look crossed Harry's face, as he subconsciously gripped his sword sheathed in its scabbard. "The Empire is a bully. It's been terrorizing this kingdom for my entire life, threatening to destroy everything in Hufflepuff if we refuse instruction. It's far too strong and powerful for its own good and so I've sworn to protect anything and anyone that has ever felt threatened by its might," Harry said resolutely, fixing his gaze on Remus', forcing his guardian to see that in this, he was stubborn.

"Don't misunderstand me, Harry," Remus said gently. "I'm not condoning Slytherin. But I'm asking you to seek reason. Not all of Slytherin is evil, in the same way that not all Hufflepuff is good."

A sigh escaped Harry. "Remus, a kingdom is what its ruler makes of it. The Empire's monarchy is corrupt and hell-bent on enforcing their power on everyone. They consider all beneath them!" Harry said angrily, staring at Remus. "Don't make me feel guilty for the way I feel."

They had paused in their walking and stood for a moment weighing the situation. Remus felt as if he had crossed a line and touched on a topic that Harry was sensitive about, if his determined green eyes were anything to go by. But after a moment, Harry's stare softened and he looked away for his guardian and focused on the road.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, mulling over his words. "I know I become really angry whenever the Empire is even mentioned. But I can't help it. They must be stopped. And if you're right about not all of Slytherin being evil, then I have more of a reason to fight against them. To help those people escape."

"And then what will you do? Bring them here?" Remus asked, humouring Harry, but also keeping his wards' feet on the ground and not lost in possibilities.

Harry glanced back at Remus and cracked a small one-sided smile. "We could fit them in our spare room," he joked. "Or better yet, in Severus' precious yard."

Their sombre mood vanished and Remus chuckled. "God help us if anyone even touches his plants!"

The pair resumed their walking; now sure that the others would be fretting over their whereabouts at being gone for so long. Harry's arm twinged with pain every few seconds and he inwardly cursed the black-fitted fighter. But he gritted his teeth and bore his pain silently; alerting Remus would mean more fussing.

When they were within sight of the main hall, Harry suddenly felt uneasy.

Something wasn't right.

The place was more quiet than it should be, as if three hundred people weren't squashed like sardines in the suffocating hall. There were no sounds of instruments or laughter, or the noisy clatter of cutlery hitting against plates and wine glasses.

Harry and Remus glanced at each other, before hurrying their walk. Harry ended up running the last few steps, when he thought he heard Shacklebolt yelling something he couldn't make out. He ignored his annoying arm as he burst through the doors, Remus a few steps behind him.

The sight he was met with was so unlike the one he left, he wasn't sure where to begin looking.

Chief among the view was Shacklebolt, Dumbledore, and the princess talking hurriedly nearby a wounded soldier. Hermione looked worried, and Ron stood unsure at her side. Upon nearing the scene, he realised that the wounded soldier was, in fact, the Captain of the Ravenclaw guard. A wide gash was clearly visible on his lower arm and torso; a small pool of blood had formed beneath him. Harry was not sure how severe the injuries were, and was glad a pair of medics was attending to him.

Casting his gaze to the left and right, he saw at least two other Ravenclaw knights and one Hufflepuff soldier similarly wounded. Pockets of people surrounded each infirmed man, alarmed and frightened expressions painted on their faces. Gasps of agony issued from each wounded man as their healers gently applied salves and medicines. Harry briefly thought that his unkind neighbour, Severus, would be welcome here with his unusual remedies. He shook his head clear and marched forward to the head table where the authorities were talking anxiously.

Ron was the first to spot Harry and rushed down, his actions drawing the others' attentions.

"Harry!" Ron cried.

"Ron, what's going on?" he asked, restless.

"No idea. No one knows. A few minutes after you left, Captain McTavish rushed inside looking ... well ..." Ron lowered his voice and stared Harry in the eye, "looking like he'd lost a fight ... which he did."

Unease settled in Harry's stomach. "A fight? Against whom?" he asked slowly.

Ron shook his head and focused his eyes on Harry's. "He doesn't know. Couldn't tell who it was. McTavish said he was all dressed in black and had no identifying marks," Ron reported.

Harry shared a knowing look with Remus, who had come to stand behind the two friends.

"What of the others?" Harry asked, desperate to know all the details. "Macmillan and the two Ravenclaws," he elaborated, jerking his head backward to gesture to the wounded soldiers behind them.

"Same story," Ron confirmed Harry's suspicion. "They were all suddenly attacked by men dressed in black, who left them with substantial wounds." Ron lowered his tone even more and glanced at one of the wounded Ravenclaw soldiers. "They're not sure he'll make it," he said with a slight nod.

A quick glance and Harry saw the knight gasping for breath and clutching his stomach. He gurgled up blood and his face contorted with pain. Harry winced at his predicament.

At that moment, the doors burst open again. Dean Thomas, a close friend of Harry and Ron's and a well-skilled Hufflepuff knight, limped in, holding onto a servant boy for support.

"Dean!" Harry yelled, noticing that his trousers had slice marks all over them, as if an attacker was trying to hack his legs off. With his free hand, Dean was tightly holding his left shoulder and Harry saw blood trickle through the gaps in his fingers.

"Harry!" he cried out, before collapsing. A small team of medics ran over and surrounded him so Harry could no longer see him.

He turned back to Ron, who looked stunned and a little scared, though he knew Ron would never admit it. Harry considered going over to Dean and asking who did it, but he knew Dean would not be able to answer him, so instead he walked over the Shacklebolt, Dumbledore and the Princess, and the rest of the Hufflepuff Elders that had flocked together to discuss the happenings of the night.

"Sir," Harry addressed Shacklebolt. "What can I do? I'm at your service."

Shacklebolt looked solemnly at Harry. "There is nothing to be done. None of the wounded knows who attacked them, but we do know they were expert fighters."

"I know. I was attacked too," Harry said.

Ron balked and suddenly began inspecting Harry's form for any signs of bleeding or stabbing. "Wha—are you hurt?"

Harry nudged him. "I'm fine. He only nicked my arm." A slight smirk formed on his face. "You should see the other guy."

"You held him off?" Dumbledore asked, pride and intrigue laced in his question.

Harry nodded. "I had him pinned down, but he got away and raced off on his horse before I could catch up," Harry said, wisely leaving out Remus' untimely interruption. What they didn't need was a conversation of 'what ifs'.

It was the Princess who asked the question that everyone wanted answered: "Where did they come from? Who are they?"

Her plea met silence. Harry considered bringing up his Slytherin theory but felt Remus place pressure on his right arm to warn him not to. He could almost read Remus' mind. _That is a conversation for another time._ Though Harry could tell that most of those present silently suspected their slithering enemy.

Their ignorance lasted a full minute before Shacklebolt spoke. "Standing around here doing nothing will not give us the answers we want. Get the men healed and rested—you as well, Harry—and tomorrow we convene to discuss."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, yes. Tomorrow. My Lady, Ron and Harry will escort you back to your quarters. I hope this has not lowered your spirits about visiting Hufflepuff ever again after," he said kindly.

Hermione smiled. "Certainly not, Professor. I only hope that the attacks do not continue and we have seen the last of this evil."

-mp-

Harry was surprised at the Princess' courage as they bade her goodnight and left her at her chambers. He was sure she must be shaken up and frightened, but she wisely chose not to show it to her Ravenclaw guard or any citizens around her. Putting on a face of courage even when it was difficult to, Harry surmised, was a quality all leaders should have. He found, as he began to know Hermione more, that she is much different to the snob he expected her to be.

On the way back to their respective homes, which were conveniently close by to each other, Ron turned to Harry and began firing questions, as Harry knew he would.

"Are you alright? Where are you hurt? Why didn't you tell me you were also attacked?"

"Ron, calm down," Harry shushed him. The red-head's words were impossibly loud in the silent street. "I'm fine, I already told you. Remus patched me up."

"Where?"

"My arm," Harry pointed. "I've got a bandage on now."

"That's your sword arm, Harry. Can you still fight?" Ron asked predictably.

"Not as well with my right, but I've still got my left." He still didn't look convinced. "Ron, I'll be fine," Harry insisted. Before Ron could shoot another question—and he opened his mouth to do so—Harry quickly spoke. "Look, my arm is the least of our worries. What we need to know are details. And when we find the bastards who did this, I'm going to kick their arses so far into next year, they'll be dizzy for days," Harry hissed, knowing instinctively it was Slytherin. Who else could do such a thing? But before he got himself too riled up, Harry stopped. "In any case, let's wait until tomorrow's council."

No other words were spoken until the pair had reached the fork where their paths split.

"You heard Shacklebolt. Get some rest," Ron reminded.

Harry shut up and did as told.

-mp-

The Court Hall of Hufflepuff was not very intimidating, even to a criminal standing trial. It was a small room with a low ceiling, and dusty paintings hanging from mud-caked walls. What should be a judge's throne was replaced by a long bench that housed a panel of authorities—namely, the Elders of Hufflepuff. The Professor was seated in the middle with that ever-present twinkle in his eye, smiling down at the convicted person. Such a sight is not one that would evoke terror. There were no pews at the back, as in a usual court hall; there wasn't any room: just a smattering of chairs here and there.

It was in this room that the Hufflepuff Elders, the Ravenclaw authorities, and Harry and Ron were gathered to discuss the sudden attacks.

"Three Hufflepuff and four Ravenclaw soldiers were attacked last night, all sporting injuring of varying severity," the Professor reported. "Most unfortunately, Sir Edward, a knight of Ravenclaw, was killed as a result." Harry spared a glance at Hermione, who looked pained, as if this Edward was her close friend. Ron, who was standing next to her, looked as if he wanted to comfort her, but barely resisted. "When the perpetrators are discovered, the consequences of their doings will be grave, rest assured." Dumbledore took his seat, and the floor was open for discussion.

So tempted was he to speak his accusation against the Empire, Harry clenched his fist tightly, wanting his fingernails to leave marks on his palm. He felt Remus' cautionary gaze on him.

Harry's efforts to shut himself up turned out to be useless. To his utter surprise, it was Remus himself who spoke what was on his mind.

"My Lords and Lady, I have nothing to ground these accusations on, but I believe that the Empire is behind these attacks. It certainly was not either nation represented in this room, and Slytherin is the only other kingdom to occupy this land."

A quiet murmur filtered in. People were quick to mutter their suggestions based on Remus' accusations, whether agreeing or disagreeing. Harry heard snippets here and there of evils of the Empire, and that only a nation so depraved would attack in such a manner. He also heard people warning others to not be so hasty. Dumbledore, it seemed, was of this mind.

"No conclusions have been drawn yet. While it may appear that the Empire is the most likely candidate, there are other similarly powerful kingdoms abroad who have always cast an unkind eye to the people of this land," he said calmly. Dumbledore's eyes seemed to make contact with everyone else's in the room at the same time.

Harry supposed it was a method of his to get his point across, and the knight conceded its desired effect: people were nodding and thinking of the handful of other nations surrounding theirs.

Harry was never any good at geography, and knew very little of the kingdoms to the north, east and south of the sea surrounding their island. But he did know that the history between the land of Hogwarts and its nearest neighbours were shaky at best.

Dumbledore continued his wise words: "I know for a fact that the neighbouring countries to the north, across the Strait, have long tried to take over this island. And let's not forget our trading differences with our neighbours to the south and east, Beauxbatons among them". Dumbledore discontinued speaking, allowing time for his words to be heard. Harry silently fumed. He loved Dumbledore like a grandfather, but he was completely sure the guilty party was Slytherin.

Silence reigned for a moment, before the princess stood and broke it. "The Professor is right. It would be indeterminably foolish to start a war with the wrong kingdom. Our attacker's identity is unclear, and simple talk in this court house will not reveal it to us. That is not to say our investigations will cease. We will discover who is responsible. In the meantime, there are methods we can use to ensure this doesn't happen again," Hermione said strongly. "Word has already been sent to my father; and with permission from the Elders"—she nodded to Dumbledore and the men sitting beside him—"I will send envoys to the Empire hoping to clear this matter." Hermione sat back down.

Harry's eyes closed and he expelled a breath. Before he could control himself, his voice escaped from his lips. "Passive acceptance. Really?" Every head turned to him but Harry wasn't intimidated. "Is that all we're going to do? There are six injured men in this kingdom right now as a result of these attacks. Not to mention, one dead. How can we sit back—"

"Harry," came Dumbledore's sharp voice.

His speech cut short, Harry clenched his fist. He knew that was out of place, without acknowledging Remus' warning glance and Shacklebolt's glare. Harry was glad the princess sat with her back to him, because he was sure she felt terrible with his words. He even felt Ron's stunned look from his left.

He took a couple of breaths to calm down.

"Forgive me, I— I spoke out of line," Harry muttered, purposefully not saying that their judgments are right. He still disagreed with them.

There a few seconds awkward silence in the court room and Harry felt the weight of every gaze on him, but he refused to show it. Shacklebolt stood and offered his opinion. "Unfortunately, Captain McTavish is yet too unwell to be here today, but I spoke to him earlier and we discussed some safety measures that can be put in place. After all, there is no telling that this won't happen again. All sentry duty must be done in groups of three, and all soldiers will be fully armed. Security will increase surrounding all public buildings, and also the princess' quarters. Word will be posted in the town centre that if anyone hears or sees anything that might suggest another attack, they are to report to a soldier on duty immediately. The town will also be under curfew. No one is to be seen on the streets after nightfall."

Nods of assent received his speech, appreciating the extra security in town.

With that said, Dumbledore dismissed the council.

-mp-

Harry took the long way home, opting to spend time in thought. He found that he was angry at Dumbledore and Hermione, and everyone else who agreed with their point of view. He thought that the responsibility of leading a kingdom meant doing everything to protect it. But through his stubbornness, he found wisdom in their verdict today. Being a leader meant avoiding rash decisions. And perhaps it would have been rash to suddenly start a war with the Empire when they didn't have solid proof.

Harry's anger, devoid of a target, turned to himself. He was frustrated that he let his masked attacker flee him. If only he had pulled off that mask!

As he neared his house, a hushed whisper caught in attention. Harry's head snapped up in the direction of the noise and found he was looking at his neighbour's house.

Harry scrunched his eyebrows in uncertainty, as the whispering continued. He couldn't distinguish any words; he was too far away. He searched for any sign of his neighbour, wondering if it was Snape who was talking mutedly. Or if not, who was trespassing into his land?

He took a few steps closer. A handful of words started to take shape. Harry realised the voice was Snape's.

"...The boy is ... have been watching ... my lord ... I understand ... will not fail you ..." There was a pause here, as if Snape was waiting for someone else to speak. But Harry heard no other voice. He silently approached closer still and carefully peeked his head around the corner of the house. The dark-cloaked man was standing alone, facing away from him. Who was he talking to?

Then, Snape spoke again. "He is becoming stronger every day, my lord. His entire kingdom is getting ready for war. Everything is proceeding as you planned it."

Another pause.

"Yes, the Chosen One will be ready. And when he is, the Sword will be yours. Magic will be yours once more."

Harry stared at the back of Snape's head as he had gone insane. What on earth was Snape on about? Cautiously stepping on soft grass, Harry backed away, deciding that his neighbour really was as mad as Harry had always thought he was. His talk of lords and magic and swords sounded like things that existed purely in Snape's deranged mind.

Besides, there was no such thing as magic. Har

He took the final few steps to his home and stepped inside to find Remus and the Professor sitting in the kitchen, having tea.

"Harry," the Professor greeted tiredly, raising his cup in greeting.

Harry, having already put the incident with Snape in the back of his mind, offered a small smile and came to sit with them; these two men who were his family and mentors. He owed everything to them, having never known his parents. Seldom did Remus share stories of his father and mother, and Harry never asked. He knew his guardian had been very close to his father, and memories of him still hurt. Harry sometimes thought of what his life might have been like if his parents hadn't been struck ill by that mysterious illness.

"You're upset with me, aren't you?" the Professor asked, with a glint in his twinkling eyes.

Harry looked up at his kind old face and breathed out. "No. I'm just ... restless. You know me, I—I don't like to sit still," Harry admitted.

Remus smiled at him. "Trust me, I know."

"But Harry, surely you can see that any violent action taken at this early stage would be too rushed. We don't know it was the Empire," the Professor said.

"Look, I'm not claiming I'm an expert at the politics behind this all because I'm not, but we have never had a peaceful history with Slytherin. It seems like every time I hear the word _Slytherin_ mentioned in a sentence, it has to do with violence of some sort. They're just ... they're after power and control, and they won't stop," Harry huffed out.

"Harry—" Remus said kindly, trying to placate his ward.

"No, Remus. Please stop telling me to be quiet or calm down. My instinct tells me that it was the Empire, and talk to Shacklebolt ... my instinct hasn't failed me before."

The Professor gingerly placed his cup of tea down, and reached to fix his spectacles sitting precariously on his pointy nose. He turned to Harry, observing the young man. "We can't accuse a nation based on an instinct, my boy," the Professor spoke. Then he asked, "May I pose a question, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Where does this instinctual hatred of the Empire come from? As far as I know, you've had very little contact with them in your life," the Professor said, glancing quickly in Remus' direction.

Harry looked at the two men and raked his fingers through his shaggy black hair. "To be honest, I've thought about this too. And I can't explain it. I just feel anger towards them and have always. Growing up, I just always knew that Slytherin was my enemy. And it's not a superficial thing. It's more ... something I know inside ..." Harry finished by tapping his chest in the region of his heart. "I don't know; I sound stupid."

He noticed the two of them share a knowing look. The Professor's expression, Harry saw, was a mix of slight surprise, and confusion. A face full of questions.

"What?" Harry asked.

Their glance was broken and Remus turned to Harry. "Harry, despite what you may think, and even if you're right about the Empire being the perpetrator, the fact remains that, currently, neither Hufflepuff nor Ravenclaw possesses the power to boldly accuse them. Not even with our armies combined," he reasoned in a logical and firm voice; his tone in such a way that indicated that this conversation was nearing an end. "Slytherin has more power, more soldiers, and more money. As it stands, any action taken towards Slytherin will be done through negotiations, not aggressively."

Harry was taken back, stunned at Remus' change in attitude. Remus hardly ever spoke to him in such a rigid voice. He didn't say a word and the atmosphere suddenly became a little tense.

In order to stave off awkwardness, Harry stood and told them he was tired. With a bid farewell, he turned and walked down the small corridor into his room. He left the bedroom door slightly ajar. After a minute of quiet, the Professor and Remus began talking again, albeit in much quiet tones than earlier. Harry strained to listen.

"I had to shift his train of thought, Albus. When he started talking about his instinct and anger, I had to change the topic," Remus sighed.

"I know, Remus. I'm glad you did. To be honest, I had no idea what he felt of the Empire until today."

"The longer this matter goes on, the closer Harry gets to the truth about his connection to Slytherin," Remus said, troubled. "I've tried to divert his thoughts whenever he mentions it, but it's only a matter of time now. He's growing up; he wants to know more." A short silence. Remus continued, "I confess, I do too."

"I know, Remus," the Professor said tiredly, "I apologise for all the secrets I've kept even from you, but believe me when I say that it is for your own safety. There are very few who know the whole truth."

"Who else?"

The Professor sighed. "I cannot say. But know this, Remus: Harry's lineage stretches much further than Slytherin. His ancestors mark the pages of ancient history. If he were to ever find out, his life will be in much more danger than what it already is in. He must not know."

"What danger, Albus?" Remus asked, a note of anxiety on his voice. "What danger is Harry in? Please, I must know."

"Harry ... is a wanted man."

"By whom?"

"Someone whose name I dare not speak here."

"Albus—"

"Ask no more questions, Remus, please. The less you know the better."

There was another spell of silence. This one longer.

Eventually Remus asked softly, "What do I do if he keeps asking me things?"

"Whatever you can. Distract him; lie if you must. We need to continue to keep him safe and hidden. But ... even still ... I fear I will have to tell Harry soon," the Professor almost whispered.

After murmured goodbyes, the Professor left.

And Harry, who heard the whole thing, was livid.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Harry tries to make sense of what he's heard, while these unknown assassins continue to attack._


	15. What Could Have Been

_A/N: Sorry this update is a little late! Computer problems … grrr_

-mp-

Chapter 14

**What Could Have Been**

A week passed.

The memory of his overheard conversation never left Harry's mind. Remus and Dumbledore were hiding something from him. What's more, it was a secret they'd held from him since his birth. Or from the sounds of it, even earlier than that.

_"The longer this matter goes on, the closer Harry gets to the truth about his connection to Slytherin,"_ Remus had said.

_"Harry's lineage stretches much further than Slytherin," _the Professor had remarked.

What could he mean? The two statements were almost contradictory. And why had the Professor said his life in danger?

_"Harry ... is a wanted man."_

_ "By whom?"_

_ "Someone whose name I dare not speak here."_

Who? Who on earth were they talking about? Why was this man after him? What did he want?

Or more importantly, why hadn't he known about any of this when he was growing up? He was incensed with fury at both of them for keeping such a secret. The Professor kept saying that it was for his own good, but Harry disagreed. If it concerned his life and wellbeing, then Harry damn-well had a say in it! Now, forced to his own musings, Harry tried time and time again to make sense of all the different pieces of information he had heard.

He found he possessed no idea of why or how any of this could be true, and he tortured himself with possible reasons. At first, he considered confronting his two mentors but decided he didn't want to talk to them. He wanted to find out on his own, and then spite them with it.

Meanwhile, in the past seven days, Hufflepuff had been on high alert. Thankfully, no other attacks had occurred, but news of a most concerning nature reached them.

Two days after the attacks, Hermione had sent a scouting party to Ravenclaw, to inform her father, King Wilfred, of the multiple assaults. Hours after her scouts left, a harried young messenger boy, red-faced and puffing from exertion, astride a bone-weary pale steed, had come rampaging into Hufflepuff.

Hermione immediately saw him with the crest of her family, and knew that her father had sent the boy.

"Ravenclaw," he had panted out, "has been attacked, Milady."

Hermione and all that was in the room had gasped, including Harry. Shacklebolt proceeded to hush the murmur that arose. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Ravenclaw Captain McTavish, grip his sword.

"How?" Hermione had beseeched, her face marred with worry.

"Anonymous attackers, Milady. We do not know who they were. They came in the night time, targeting the best fighters in the land," he had gushed out. An easy murmur spread throughout the gathered audience.

Hermione, fraught with despair, looked away. Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and turned to the boy.

"Was anyone injured, lad?"

"Aye, they all were," he had murmured.

Since that moment, Harry had never seen so many guards on duty, as security had increased substantially. More news had been exchanged between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, until King Wilfred understood that the same had occurred in Hufflepuff. It was calculated that, in total, fifteen of the best fighter across the two kingdoms were attacked. The King expressed that he couldn't leave Ravenclaw, and that Hermione should stay where she was, under the watchful eye of the Hufflepuff knighthood.

In the days to follow, Harry's and Ron's responsibility to guard the princess never ceased. They were required to flank her everywhere she went, along with the soldiers from Ravenclaw. Naturally, this increased time spent with her meant that Harry had first-hand witness of the blooming relationship between his friend and the royal, despite the chaos around them.

Harry admitted that he doubted anything would ever come of it, but seeing the two together slowly eroded his initial misgiving. The pair, of course, never made it public. Harry wasn't even sure her own Ravenclaw guards—the only other people who spent a large amount of time with her—knew at all. He believed it was better that way. The less people that knew, the better. Even still, Harry was dreading the moment when Hermione would have to return home. It would shatter Ron's heart.

But it seemed that wouldn't be for some time. The Ravenclaw envoys that Hermione had sent over to the Empire returned with very little to say, increasing the frustration of everyone, particularly Harry's. Slytherin had feigned ignorance, and had the envoys insisted on accusations, they may not have returned at all. Thus, Hermione and her knights remained in Hufflepuff for an indeterminate amount of time.

To Harry's chagrin, another development had unfolded. The first time Hermione had met Ron's younger sister, Ginny—Ron had insisted on it—the two became very close friends and virtually inseparable. This meant that the four of them, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, were often found together.

"It's perfect, Harry," Ron had claimed. "Me and Hermione ... you and Ginny ..." His voice trailed off and Harry fought to smile. He hadn't yet told his friend that he had no intentions to court the youngest Weasley.

Nevertheless, Ron's parents found the idea to be entirely splendid and even Hermione had once or twice nudged him on the side whenever Ginny would giggle, or wear a pretty dress, or cling onto Harry's arm.

All Harry could do was grit his teeth.

Amidst all this, Harry's mind was constantly caught up in the overheard whispers of his two mentors.

-mp-

Unbeknownst to Harry, Remus was experiencing the same silent torment in his mind.

Remus sighed helplessly and glanced at his godson. He had a profile view of Harry, who was sitting hunched at the dinner table, studiously ignoring him. The weary mentor would have to be blind and deaf to not notice the silent treatment Harry was giving him. Remus hadn't been able to barely speak a word to the stubborn young man in the past week, and he was growing tired.

Remus could think of a number of reasons why Harry was acting the way he was.

The most obvious was anger directed at the Elders and Ravenclaw authorities. Still no one had admitted that the Empire was the perpetrator behind the attacks and Harry was losing patience. All anyone was doing was waiting with bated breath for something to happen, which wasn't even a certainty. He knew Harry hated waiting, and he suspected he harboured resentment towards the military authorities.

Remus' second suspicion for Harry's dismal aura was because of Miss Ginerva Weasley. Through careful observations, he saw the young lady spending much more time with Harry recently, and he knew for a fact that Harry would not be enjoying it as much as she. Remus spied her constantly grasping tightly onto Harry's side, clinging to him desperately, through coy glances and shrieking giggles. Remus also knew that his godson was being pressured into making his relationship with Miss Weasley made public and official from all sides, particularly her parents.

His third reason for the silent and dismissive behaviour could be blamed of Harry's age. Perhaps it was merely a phase that young men went through? Perhaps Harry was simply coming to terms with things in his life that were not as substantial Remus was making them out to be? However, Remus dismissed this thought almost immediately. He _knew_ Harry. He knew there was a plausible explanation to this attitude.

Remus barely even allowed himself to entertain his fourth explanation. He feared that perhaps this one harboured the most amount of truth.

"'m going out. See you later," Harry mumbled, before exiting the room hastily, avoiding all eye contact with Remus.

Remus sat back and let fear trickle into his mind.

Perhaps his fourth explanation was the truest reason. He searched his memories back to his hushed conversation with the Professor. What if Harry heard? What if Harry suspected? Try as he might, he could not recall exactly what had been said. He did not know how much Harry knew. Remus toyed with the idea of confronting Harry, but decided not to. He could not be sure this was the correct reason. If Harry had questions, he would come to Remus.

Not for the first time since Harry was old enough to understand words, Remus debated with himself whether to tell Harry of his parentage. He had been forbidden, of course, by Dumbledore, to ever mention anything about James, but he couldn't help his desperate desire to tell the young man more than just, _"we were the best of friends"_. When Harry had first asked about his parents' death, all Remus was allowed to say was, _"your parents were struck with an illness. It almost killed you too, until you recovered, leaving you with that scar"_. Remus snorted at the terrible lie. Thankfully, when Remus had first told him this tale, Harry had been too young and gullible to consider it to be false, and by now, he had accepted it as the truth.

What Remus had always wanted to know was _why_ he was forbidden to tell Harry. Why had Dumbledore banned him from mentioning Harry's family?

Remus suspected that Dumbledore knew more about James Potter than he did, but that was fine by him. If he knew any more, he would be bursting to tell Harry.

Suddenly, Remus' mind took him back twenty years ago. He remembered back to the night, just weeks after Harry were born, when James, Sirius and Lily had sat him down and told him the truth.

"_Moony_," James had said with a deep sigh. "_When Padfoot and I arrived here ... we told you that we were from Slytherin_." James had paused. "_That's not the whole truth ..."_

Remus had found it incredibly difficult to believe them at first when they revealed that James had been the Crown Prince of Slytherin, and Sirius a Noble. His disbelief was followed by a deep hurt, that they had never told him until then. Even Lily knew, but he supposed that was to be expected, seeing as she married James.

He remembered looking into Sirius' ebony eyes—eyes that, back then, promised love and honesty—and feeling disappointed. That had been one of the most difficult times. The three had made him promise not to utter a word to anyone, and he agreed, through thin lips and downcast eyes. They made him swear to keep the truth from Harry also. In hindsight, it was as if they knew they were to be killed.

Remus felt sick.

_Killed_.

James and Lily were murdered.

_Sirius killed them_.

His stomach lurched painfully. He had spent the better half of ten years trying to convince himself otherwise, trying to disregard the evidence, but he couldn't. They had found Sirius, wand in hand, poised above Harry, ready to kill the baby too. Remus could still hear the sound of Harry's wailing.

Remus had never known betrayal until that moment: when he realised that the person he loved most was a murderer.

Unbidden, voices from that day resonated in his mind.

_"Remus! It wasn't me! Please!"_

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to forget.

_"Remus! Please! Believe me ... I couldn't possibly ... Please!"_

_"How could you? HOW COULD YOU?" Remus had screamed._

_ "It wasn't me! Please, you must believe me!" Sirius had begged. "I'd never hurt them ... I'd never hurt Harry!"_

Remus had lost count how many nights he had cried himself to sleep.

Now, twenty years later, the memory of Sirius was still fresh, and the truth of Harry's lineage was unbearably hidden.

Remus feared that his promise to James and Lily to never let Harry know about his Slytherin ancestry was about to be broken.

-mp-

Ron had told him earlier today to meet him at lunchtime in Hob's Meadow, a wide grassy field at the southern end of the town. He and Ron preferred to spend time here, as it was quiet and often just the two of them. This time, however, Harry knew the princess would be there too, seeing as Ron couldn't leave her side.

As he neared the field, his heart sank. Ginny was here too.

Harry sighed and clicked at his horse, urging it to trot the final distance, towards a waving Ron, a smiling Hermione and a giggling Ginny.

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked, calling him over.

"What kept you, mate?" Ron asked.

"I'm on time, you prat. You said lunchtime," Harry said, as he dismounted his horse. The animal snorted and tossed his head in Harry's direction, as if wanting thanks for delivering him here safely. Harry smirked and patted her between the eyes. "Thanks, girl."

"Hello, ladies," Harry said, nodding towards Hermione and Ginny, who had blushed red at the greeting and dropped her head shyly. Harry resisted the urge to scrunch his eyebrows at the unpredictable girl: how she can be loud and laughing in one moment, and quiet and timid the next?

_Women..._ he thought agitatedly. At least Hermione was normal.

"Afternoon, Harry," Hermione greeted in return.

Behind her, Harry noticed a blanket on the ground and baskets. Harry suspected they were full of food. A little surprised, Harry gestured towards them. "Are we having a picnic?"

Ginny giggled behind a lacy gloved hand. Harry wondered what was so funny.

"Yep," Ron said happily.

"We decided we needed to relax after all the chaos of this week," Hermione explained. "I feel as if I have not stopped for a minute since the messenger from Ravenclaw. I've grown tired of waiting."

"A picnic is perfect," Harry agreed, grateful for the chance to relax and forget his whirlwind of thoughts even for a moment. "Shall we?" he asked, holding out his arm towards the blanket.

The four young adults sat around the baskets, and spent a peaceful hour enjoying food and company. To his dismay, Ginny chose her seat right next to his and closer than necessary. Harry was forced to endure the next hour with Ginny plastered to his side. She grew bolder ten minutes into their lunch, and began to subtly place her hand on his knee. Harry had to constantly remind himself to not shift away.

They talked of inconsequential things, which was a welcome change. Ron questioned Hermione on life as a royal princess, and Ginny told everyone that she recently purchased a new bonnet.

It was about the time when Hermione was asking Ron and Ginny about their large family that the back of Harry's neck prickled.

He briefly started, and began to surreptitiously look around the meadow and the trees lining it. Thankfully, the other three didn't notice.

Harry shrugged to ignore it, but as the conversation drifted from the Weasley brothers to Hermione's fear of heights, he could not drop the feeling that they were being watched. An unpleasant feeling entered him.

They were suddenly interrupted by a big, fat raindrop that landed directly onto Ron's nose, preceding a hundred others as the sun was chased away by ominous looking thunderclouds. The girls cried out, claiming that their hair would be ruined. Ron valiantly tried to shield Hermione from the torrent, but it was useless. The rain began pouring earnestly very quickly, and the four of them dashed towards some shelter.

As he ran, Harry squinted to look at the tree line again, still unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching him. It was to no avail, for he couldn't see more than five metres around him; the rain was as thick as a white blanket.

By the time they found themselves beneath some shelter, they were completely drenched, and Ron and Ginny were laughing hysterically. Hermione began to chuckle, also, but Harry's grim expression remained.

"Mate," Ron laughed, "What's wrong? You look like your cat has died."

"I don't have a cat, Ron," Harry pointed out distractedly.

"But if you did, and if it just died, you'd have that exact face," Ron explained.

Harry's response was a very deliberate eye-roll. Ginny apparently found this to be incredibly humorous. Harry didn't.

"Harry," a more sensible Hermione said, "Are you alright?"

Harry turned to her. "I'm fine. Just ... had a thought. It's nothing," he said vaguely.

"If you're sure," Hermione said, giving Harry an encouraging smile.

"Of course," Harry replied, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. Someone had been watching them, Harry's instincts told him. And he really wanted to find out who.

-mp-

The sun was just beginning to set, which meant that the curfew was now in place. As Harry and Ron walked Hermione over to her door, Harry noticed Ron giving him not-so-subtle eye gestures to leave he and the princess alone for the final leg of the journey. Harry almost laughed at his almost pitiful suavity, but instead of teasing him, he winked at Ron and left the couple alone. He walked past the corner of the building, but stopped there, not wanting to stray too far.

He saw Ron and Hermione mumble a couple of soft words to each other. Ron stepped closer to her and placed his hand gently on her waist. After a few moments in near-silent conversation like this, Ron leant in and Hermione met him. The pair kissed beneath the setting sun and an orange sky.

Harry smiled warmly. He was happy for his friend, but he suddenly felt a pang of loneliness. _Will I ever have what they have?_ He frowned when Ginny's face appeared in his mind. He sighed, and turned his head away and began walking home, deciding that he shouldn't wait for Ron. He wasn't sure when Ron would leave anyway.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have walked alone.

-mp-

It happened less than a kilometre away from his home, in one of the most deserted parts of town.

Harry, lost in thought with his head bowed, suddenly snapped his eyes open. The prickling feeling on the back of his neck returned. He cast careful glances around, to the forest on his left and to the distant houses to his right, where the citizens of Hufflepuff were already home, as he should be.

Light was dimming as the sun was sinking. He had to squint if he wanted to see far, but he saw nothing. The feeling remained, however. Like a sour aftertaste lingering on his tongue.

Harry gripped his sword in his right arm, just to be sure, in case of a sudden attack. He kept his pace steady, wanting to get home before anything unsightly happened. He was close now. Just a few more hundred metres and he'd be able to see their street.

In the end, he wasn't fast enough.

He never reached his home.

Seemingly out of thin air, four black-clad strangers interrupted his walk, armed to the teeth. Harry was struck with déjà vu, only multiplied. He barely even made a sound of surprise and lifted his sword, ready. He already knew the odds were against him, anyone could tell that. But he knew he was a skilled fighter.

He did not waste time asking questions this time, but seized up the situation, ready to defend himself alone. No one else was nearby and no one knew where he was. The only other person who might potentially come this way, would be Ron, but Harry didn't pin his faith on that. He was sure Ron was with Hermione.

He took his time assessing their positions, their stances, which hand was holding what type of sword. These four looked identical to his previous attacker more than a week ago. If they stood side-by-side, Harry was sure they would be indistinguishable in height too.

He shook his head from inane thoughts, and gripped his sword. "C'mon, c'mon", he muttered, knowing he couldn't be the first to make a move. He would likely be killed instantly, remembering that these people were well skilled and handled a sword expertly.

"C'mon, you snakes", Harry mumbled, knowing whole-heartedly that these fighters were Slytherin.

This game of assessment and hesitation was suddenly broken. The left-most figure made the first move, rushing at Harry quickly and efficiently, ready to confuse him. But Harry was ready, he blocked the attack, and kicked him in the stomach, sending him to the floor within seconds.

Harry allowed a small smirk shape his mouth, before it was hastily removed. The three other fighters acted in unison, as if they had rehearsed it. Swords raised, they attacked him from three different directions.

Harry steeled himself and let his arm flow. Steel clashed; the sound reverberating through the dead street like a fatal bell toll. Harry moved quickly to block in front, behind him and to his right, as all three fighters attacked. His arm moved deftly, never stopping, giving his best effort. In his position of defence, there was a small radius of space around Harry that he defended. He did not let any fighter move within an arm's length of his body, using his sword to bat away the blades. If they came closer, the fight would become desperate.

A groan sounded from the ground, and out of his peripheral vision, Harry saw the fourth fighter struggling to sit up, clutching his stomach, forcing air into it. Harry didn't allow himself to feel discouraged, but mentally prepared himself for a fourth enemy to enter their circle.

By the time the fourth had stood up, Harry's upper right arm was stinging. He winced as each parry he made, sent pain barrelling through his whole body. His wound had not completely healed yet, but he knew that if he switched to his left hand, he would lose. Harry swore.

Now, with four black fighters attempting to kill him and invade his tiny circle, Harry knew there was no way out. His heart began to sink as his arm inevitably slowed down. The split-second he took to switch hands was long enough for one of them to stab at his already wounded arm.

Harry cried out as pain flashed violently through his body. He cringed and told his body to tolerate the agony of the stabbing for a little while longer. He had a fight to win.

His enemies noticed his weakened arm and increased the force of their attacks ten-fold. Sword in his left hand, Harry knew his ability to fight had diminished. Unbidden, he remembered the name of the Ravenclaw soldier who was killed in the first round of attacks. Would he be next?

Through the coursing and throbbing pain, Harry valiantly continued his battle, watching a blood seeped through the material of his right arm sleeve.

In the end, it lasted for another three minutes before he was stabbed again. He sunk to his knees, half-conscious and bone-tired, waiting for a final plunge of steel into his gut.

His last thought, before his eyes closed with the sleep of death, was of fury. He had never found out the identity of his murderers.

A sharp pain.

Then Harry crumbled to the ground.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Harry wakes up in Slytherin. For him, it's one step closer to discovering his destiny. For us, it's one step closer to meeting the ever charming Prince Draco._


	16. Prisoners

Chapter 15

**Prisoners**

Harry blinked open his eyes.

The first thing that registered in his semi-conscience mind was his state of acute discomfort. He was lying on his side in a foetal position with his hands bound behind his back. All his weight was on his right arm, which was understandably numb, and probably had been for a time. Shifting around to remedy the ache did nothing to help. His muscles screamed for relief as cuts and contusions from all over his body were aggravated.

Harry noticed that not only were his feet also bound, but that he was very inappropriately dressed. A dirty cotton material—that was once white—was wrapped loosely around his groin and backside, resembling a nappy of sorts. Apart from this, he was stripped of all his clothes, but more pressing, his armour.

"Harry?" came a pained groan from behind him.

Harry froze. The voice registered in his wakening mind. "Remus?" he gasped.

"Thank Merlin," Remus wheezed. "I've been calling your name for a while now. Thought you were ..." But he didn't finish the thought.

Harry struggled to turn his body to face Remus but found he didn't have the strength. Weakness coursed through his limbs like a toxic disease, deflating his energy. He found he couldn't even make a fist; the muscles of his forearm were lethargic. Suddenly the hard floor he was on jolted hard and his body was jostled excruciatingly, reminding him to find a more sufferable position. Harry had the presence of mind to realise he was inside a moving wagon.

"What happened? Why—where are we?" he groaned.

"I don't know. But we've been in this carriage for a while now," Remus answered through gritted teeth. As an afterthought he added, "I doubt we're in Hufflepuff though."

Nausea flushed through Harry, and he felt ill. "I—I was attacked," Harry muttered, his last memory suddenly very vivid in his mind. "I thought ... I had died."

The carriage must have rolled over a large rock, because Harry was abruptly propelled across the hard wooden floor. He cried out in pain, the agony making him feel lightheaded.

"Harry!" Remus' frail voice rasped.

"Where are we ..." Harry mumbled again, dizzy and hurting.

"Harry?" Remus called.

"What ..."

"Harry, talk to me," Remus said.

"I thought ... I was ... Remus ..." came the breathy response.

"Harry, don't fall asleep," Remus ordered. "Harry!"

The faint warning barely resounded in Harry's foggy mind, but he found it impossible to head. Sleep, inevitably, claimed him.

-mp-

Pounding drums reverberated through Harry's skull when he next woke up. He winced at the sound; every beat felt like his head was being knocked against a brick wall. Dizziness overcame him for a minute, while he tried to get his bearings.

He was still caged in the wooden carriage, still slowly moving along, although from the sounds of it, they were no longer travelling on a dirt road. The _clip-clop_ of horses' hooves indicated that they were on a cobbled road. His wrists and ankles remained bound. Thankfully, he was now sitting upright, though he had no idea who moved him. Harry also noticed, miserably, that he was alone. Remus was gone—or was he never there to begin with? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

When he paid enough attention to more than just his immediate surroundings, a cacophony of sounds filled Harry's ears.

People. Lots of them.

Harry strained his ears to try and pick up distinct conversations, but it sounded like the carriage was right in the middle of a crowd. Hundreds of different voices were on the street. A handful of words made sense as he listened.

"—just ten sickles!"

"You there!"

"—a look at these newly baked ..."

"—most delicious things you will ever ..."

"—two galleons for you!"

"Fresh fish!"

He was right in the middle of a busy market, and as soon as he recognised his location, rich fragrant smells of foods he had never heard of wafted in through the tiny cracks of his cage. Hunger became his newest adversary as Harry realised he hadn't eaten in a very long time.

While the carriage rolled through the market, Harry began to piece information together.

He had been kidnapped. Probably the work of the attackers who had almost killed him. He glanced down at his body—which was still almost completely bare save for the loincloth—and saw two stab wounds pocketing his skin. One on his once-healing right arm, and the other on his thigh. Thankfully, neither was deep enough to do extensive damage, but would inhibit training for a few days or so. Shiny blue bruises also decorated his body. Harry snorted, he must have looked dreadful. He wondered why they didn't just kill him.

The sounds of the cobbled roads, the busy market, the slight deflection of the Slytherin dialect and the rather expensive things on sale confirmed Harry's suspicion that the Empire indeed was the perpetrator of the attacks. He had no doubt in his mind where he was.

This knowledge caused tendrils of trepidation to creep inside him. All his life, this great Empire had been a distant enemy, wreaking havoc from afar. Now he was in it, and obviously, not very welcome. His fear only escalated when he recalled whispered words that remained at the forefront of his mind: _"The longer this matter goes on, the closer Harry gets to the truth about his connection to Slytherin"._ Harry tortured himself to know what that meant, and now it seemed all the more desperate as he felt exceedingly vulnerable, sitting almost naked in a small, cramped carriage, with no one and nothing on his side.

Twenty minutes later, just as Harry was being lulled to sleep by the slight jostling of the carriage, it finally came to the end of its journey. Harry snapped awake. The carriage lifted a little as the driver leapt off the front seat.

Suddenly, the cage doors opened, and like a dam that had cracked, midday light rushed in, piercing Harry's green eyes so acutely, it gave him an instant headache. Shielding his eyes, Harry stayed in the far corner of the cage, willing himself to become accustomed to daylight.

"Come on!" the man standing at the entrance grumbled at him, not pleased with Harry's hesitation. "Move it!"

Swallowing panic and fear so as not to appear so defenceless, Harry budged forward towards the opening. Before he could step out, the carriage driver reached to him and unbound his ankles. Harry felt a brief ray of hope. Perhaps he could run away? But his hope was doused out when the driver tied that same rope around Harry's neck, and held the other end. With a quick test yank, Harry's neck was tugged painfully, but he kept his mouth shut. He would not give this man the pleasure of hearing his pain.

Like a dog on a leash, Harry stepped out, humiliated. His eyes became slim slits in the blinding light as he tried to look around and familiarise himself.

The carriage driver grunted, before pulling the rope hard. Harry's head was jerked forward swiftly, as he limped forward towards the driver.

Now that his eyes were adjusted to his surroundings, Harry looked up in the direction he was forced to move.

His eyes went wide.

His lips separated in astonishment at the sight he saw.

A dozen other men, in similar states of injury, undress and bindings, were being herded along before him. Heads downcast, they were all being pulled and pushed like cattle. Grunts of pain rang out here and there from men who were kicked for disobeying. Soldiers dressed in the Slytherin green armour lined the path that the men were walking, like silent sentinels, looking down at the men with disgust.

Harry had never seen anything like this before.

Before he could register anything more, his rope was angrily tugged, chafing the sensitive skin of his neck. On his wounded thigh, Harry hobbled forward, joining the slow-moving line of prisoners being led to the slaughter.

Questions like cannons fired in his mind, but he was sure that voicing any of them would receive ignorance at best, punishment at worst.

He followed the stream of prisoners, aware of everything around him, but keeping his head low like the others. If there was any chance of escape, he would take it. Occasionally, Harry hissed in pain as his bare feet grinded on small rocks, threatening to break skin. But every show of pain would lead to another hard yank of his rope, and his eyes watered.

This slow humiliation continued for another few minutes before they reached their destination, which appeared to be an enclosed grassy area, fenced off around the perimeter by a high wooden palisade, containing several small, dilapidated huts that looked as if they were about to fall down. It wasn't a large encampment—about the size of his training grounds back in Hufflepuff.

A wave of homesickness infused Harry at that moment, but he shook it away angrily. This wasn't the time. He scanned the camp and its walls, taking note of the three tall guard towers placed strategically around the area, standing to attention, watching everything. The only entrance—the one they had just walked through—had a heavy, metal portcullis held suspended in chains. When dropped, Harry realised, this place would look like a prison.

_That's what I am,_ Harry thought miserably, _a prisoner._

Then, he heard a grunt next to his ear.

Harry turned and saw a big, burly man with several hairy chins flopping around his neck. Harry was oddly reminded of a bear. The enormous man was clutching a bucket filled with yellow paint in his enormous paw. Before he could protest, the man reached out with his other hand, which was armed with a brush, and proceeded to slop a large dab of mustard-coloured ink onto Harry's chest. Harry stared at the man as if he was insane, when he noticed that the others around him were receiving the same treatment. All around him, prisoners were having blue spots painted on them.

Harry wondered why they had blue, and craned his neck to see if there were other yellow-painted men. A bit further away, he caught a glimpse of yellow. As he looked to see who it was, a familiar face caught his eyes. Was that Ernie Macmillan? Harry did a double take. He was about to move closer when a loud voice called out.

"Honoured guests!" called a greasy scornful voice.

Turning his head, Harry spotted a tall middle-aged man, in deep green attire, standing on a platform, calling for attention. He looked like a vulture, with his beady eyes narrowed, contorting his already unpleasant face into a wicked snarl. His voice dripped disgust as he looked at the rabble in front of him. Harry instantly hated him.

"This will be your home for the duration of your stay here, until otherwise directed," he stated, spreading his hands to gesture to their surroundings. "Based on your colours, you will be assorted into your huts. Yellow in the back corner, Blue to the left and Green to the right."

Harry was just thinking that he hadn't seen any green-painted men yet, when, just then, a small entourage of Slytherin soldiers entered the camp, dressed in their traditional green armour.

_Wait a minute_. Green. They're wearing green.

Harry glanced down at his yellow chest, and understood the meaning of the colours. They resembled the three kingdoms. Hufflepuff was yellow, Slytherin was green and Ravenclaw was blue.

"You have one week before you will be called to your duty here," Harry head the vulture man say. "That is all." He made to step off the platform, before he stopped as if he had just remembered something, turned back to the crowd, and with a gleeful sneer, smirked, "Oh, and welcome to the Slytherin Empire."

The vulture moved away from the podium and instantly, the small crowd of men around him began bustling around the encampment. Harry made to move towards the man he was convinced was Ernie Macmillan.

"Macmillan! Macmillan!" he called as he neared.

Harry was proven correct when indeed, Macmillan turned around to face him, surprise clear on his tan face.

"Potter?" he asked, disbelief pouring out.

"Macmillan, what's ... what are ... how did you get here?" Harry asked, momentarily lost for words. He wasn't sure which question was the right one to ask.

The other man shook his head in confusion. "I ... I'm not sure. I just ... I woke up in a carriage that led me here."

Harry, remembering, asked, "Were you attacked? I mean, after the first one, before you woke up, were you attacked again?"

Macmillan nodded enthusiastically. "I was, another man dressed in black. He ambushed me. Got the best of me, that time," he said, Harry noticed, a little sheepishly.

"Just one?" Harry asked. "There was only one man?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I had four," Harry said desolately.

"Blimey!" Macmillan muttered. "Four."

"Alright, you maggots! You heard the Captain! Get into your huts!" A loud angry voice resonated through the camp, startling a few men.

Against their better judgment, Harry and Macmillan obeyed. The trudged towards the back fence of the camp. Waiting at the furthest hut was a very badly battered Dean Thomas.

"Dean?" Harry blanched. "Dean, you're here!"

At the sound of his name, the wiry prisoner lifted his head and focused on Harry. The sight of Dean's brown eyes widen was comical, Harry almost laughed. "Harry! Ernie! Merlin, they got you too," Dean remarked, staring at them as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Harry wearily looked at the multiple injuries sporting on his friend's frame. Dean's ankles were inflamed and blue and looking very unstable beneath his body weight. Like small branches trying to hold up a house. Dean wavered when Harry and Ernie reached out and gently put him on the ground to take the pressure off his feet.

"What have they done to you?" Harry murmured.

A thin smile tilted the sides of Dean's mouth upward. "I'll be right as rain. You'll see." But his optimism wasn't fooling anyone. His injuries were too extensive. He needed direct and immediate medical attention, but Harry would bet his sword arm that they weren't going to be given any.

Unsure of what to say, discomfited silence reigned for a moment.

"Excuse me?" someone said from behind Harry. He turned and saw a fourth prisoner with a bright yellow dot pasted in the centre of his sinewy chest. His lean frame and light mousy-brown hair made him look a few years younger. On closer observation, his face seemed a little familiar, but Harry didn't know his name. Clearly, the boy knew his.

"Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, feeling guilty for not knowing the boy's name.

"I'm Colin," he introduced himself. Then, as an afterthought he added, "Creevy. Colin Creevy."

"Hello," Harry responded, not in the mood to make introductions. The atmosphere in the encampment was covered in murkiness, as if a big gray cloud had suddenly encased it, sapping all energy. The smile that was necessary in any form of introductions could not be found on Harry's face. His reply was another nod, before Colin joined their small Hufflepuff circle.

The four Hufflepuff soldiers entered their hut and spent the rest of the night mulling over thoughts, creating ideas on the purpose of all this. Harry could not understand why Slytherin would want so many Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw soldiers, or why there were also Slytherin soldiers locked in the same encampment, in the same decaying huts. Surely they couldn't be prisoners also.

In fitful states of mind, Harry decided that sleep was necessary, as each of them were injured in different ways and in desperate need of rest. Before he slept, he remembered the Slytherin captain on the platform say, _"You have one week before you will be called to your duty here." _

Unable to fester the energy required to ponder what this could mean, Harry submitted to the siren call of sleep.

-mp-

Seven days passed, and Harry's questions still weren't answered. The threat of their "duty" was upon them and still they hadn't a clue on what that could possibly mean.

Nevertheless, Harry insisted that they used the time given to them to rest, recuperate and train as much as possible. Being within the Empire's territory in their depleted states of injury were not a comforting thought, so Harry took it upon himself to spend the week getting his men stronger. The task wasn't easy, but Harry persisted.

During the week, Harry had bumped into another familiar face—Captain McTavish of the Ravenclaw guard, and with him, a handful of other knights from Ravenclaw; eight to be exact. Harry learned that they were all the same soldiers that were attacked the first time round.

McTavish joined Harry in his quest to train the men, and the two leaders worked their men to breaking point. Harry had the impression that the others despised them by now, with the amount of training Harry and McTavish had them undertake, considering their various wounds.

By the seventh day, Harry felt better—healthier and stronger. The stab marks on his thigh and arm had transformed into ugly pus-filled scabs, but Harry was happy that they were healed enough to ensure he could walk properly and, if he was given the chance, wield a sword with his dominant arm.

Now, with he and his men recovered as much as a week would allow them, all that was left was to wait to fulfil their duty.

-mp-

Hours later, their waiting was over.

The metal portcullis, which had been lowered and remained down for the past week, was lifted. In walked in the same vulture of a man with sneer that was identical to the one he sported seven days ago. He was surrounded on all four sides by soldiers in full Slytherin armour, with the crest of a large green python prominent on their black breastplates.

The vulture approached the raised platform, stood on it and uttered, "The time has come, prisoners, to serve your King."

A bitter taste filled Harry's mouth. His _King_? As far as he was concerned, he had no King.

Bound in chains and ropes again, the twenty or so prisoners were led out of the encampment. In the same single-line formation, they were herded out like animals.

"Get in, you good for nothing vermin," someone grunted up ahead.

As he got closer, Harry discovered that all the prisoners were being forced into a large wagon pulled by four large black horses, which looked like they would breathe fire when aggravated.

Harry stepped up into the wagon and saw a row of Ravenclaw prisoners sitting along the edges of the cages, looking forlorn and defeated with their heads down. Harry observed them with antipathy. These men were acting as if they were doomed to die—which, Harry conceded, might very well be true—but it certainly didn't help to _look_ it. With his eyes straight ahead and spine upright, Harry sat among them. No matter how grave the circumstance or how feeble the chance of escape, Harry had been taught to never show fear or passivity. If you weren't dead, there was still hope.

Once everyone was seated inside, the wagon rolled on un-circular wheels, if the constant jolting was any indication.

"Harry," mumbled Dean from his side.

"Yeah?"

"What do you reckon they're gonna do to us?" Dean asked. If Harry looked enough, behind Dean's outwardly calm face, there was worry etched across his friend's forehead and in his coffee-coloured eyes.

"Dunno," Harry replied. "But keep your head up. Keep alert. Be ready for anything."

Sounds from outside their wagon became increasingly louder as their journey continued. The solid wooden planks of their large cage prohibited them from glancing outside, but from sound alone, Harry knew that the longer they travelled the closer they were getting to a large mass of people. Harry guessed they were nearing a major city—perhaps even the capital.

Their wagon kept moving, and the crowds outside kept increasing. Along with the multitude of people surrounding them, Harry heard music—pipes, flutes and the most ominous beat of a large deep drum. With every beat, Harry saw his fellow prisoners shudder in fear.

Their wagon finally stopped.

The doors swung open.

"Out, you maggots!" came the now familiar grunt of their jailors.

One by one they filed out of their carriage and were forced to descend a rocky staircase into an underground dirty, shabby room, held up by rotting wooden posts of timber.

The first thing Harry's ardent eyes saw were weapons.

Along the edges of the dank room were swords, axes, maces, spears, bows, arrows, shields, and all sorts of man-killing tools. His eyes almost widened at the array of opportunities laid out before him. Immediately, ten different scenarios played out in his mind—all of which involved him grabbing one of the weapons and burying it deep within their guard's ribcage.

Suddenly, an incredibly loud roar from what could only be a huge crowd erupted from above them. Many of the prisoners jumped in fear.

Harry looked up, and saw dust and dirt fall from the ceiling from the reverberation of the mighty sound. Above their weapons room, there must be a great multitude of people. They were cheering for something—or someone.

Harry had a bad feeling about this.

Seconds later, while the rest of the prisoners were being ushered in, another loud rumble echoed throughout the underground room as the crowds above cried their approval. They sounded like animals, roaring, growling, wanting something.

"Hear that?" The vulture-like man asked them through a malevolent grin. "That is the sound of your salvation." His leer increased, as if he derived the utmost pleasure from their fear of imminent doom. Harry scowled at him.

"In a few moments, you will be armed with one weapon of your choice, and released outside through those doors," he continued, pointing a long, hooked finger to the gates behind him. Slits of sunlight seeped in through thin cracks in the wooden panels, but they weren't wide enough for Harry to know what was immediately beyond. "If you wish to survive to see your loved ones that were also taken—" unease rippled among the prisoners—"then you fight ..."

Harry's stomach filled with lead. _Remus._

"... each other," the vulture added. "To the death."

Silence.

"If you do not survive, we cannot promise the ... _well-being _... of your friends," he sneered.

Another mighty roar erupted from above them, while the prisoners below were motionless.

Ice froze Harry's insides as he understood the full reality of what was going on. To ever see Remus again, to ensure that he doesn't die, Harry would have to be the victor.

There could only be one winner.

To lose meant death.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: All Harry's skills are put to the test. It's time to fight._


	17. Death in the Afternoon

_A/N: Many of the ideas and plot devices in this chapter are shamelessly borrowed from the movie _Gladiator_ and Suzanne Collins' _The Hunger Games_, both of which are stories I love. Hope none of you mind!_

_On another note, thank you to all my readers and reviewers. You people are wonderful. _

-mp-

Chapter 16

**Death in the Afternoon**

What awaited them behind the wooden doors was phenomenal.

Harry's breath caught as he and the rest of the prisoners were pushed out. Sword gripped in his hand, all Harry could do was stare in heart-stopping wonder.

He was surrounded by an arena of fifty thousand people.

Fifty thousand Slytherins were screaming their eagerness with a thunderous applause. The reverberations of their cheer carried within and throughout the massive oval-shaped amphitheatre he was standing in the middle of. It was the biggest structure Harry had ever seen, and he felt tiny. Towering all around him and the prisoners were rows upon rows of seats that were crowded with more people than in Hufflepuff itself. Harry's heart began to pound faster at the sound of their deafening cry for action. Slytherins had gathered here in the thousands to watch people die today; screaming, beating, clapping, raising their fists, like ferocious savages craving fresh meat.

Harry was an animal for their amusement; just a beast they could watch either kill or be killed.

The faces of the multitude meshed into one cream-brown smudge for Harry, as he forced himself to block out the noise. He calmed his breathing, lowered his heart rate and gripped the weapon in his hand tighter. Now was not the time to be distracted.

He looked down at the dirt and sand that covered the large floor of the amphitheatre; he estimated its size; judged the distances—anything to familiarise himself with the terrain.

Then, the roar of the crowd slowly began to decline.

"MY PEOPLE!" a single yet powerful voice yelled.

Harry swivelled and saw that at one end of the stands was a shaded pavilion area—clearly a place reserved only for royalty. Three majestic thrones were placed under it. The throne in the middle was vacated as the King was now standing at the balcony of the pavilion, addressing the crowd.

"WELCOME TO THE GAMES!"

And the multitude of fifty-thousand strong erupted in another explosion of noise; the sound pulsating throughout the stadium. Harry was certain this was the loudest noise he had ever heard: he wouldn't be surprised if Ron had heard it back in Hufflepuff.

Harry felt sick at the response to such a statement. _Games?_ When peoples' _lives_ were involved? If there was ever a time that Harry despised the Empire, this was it. A scowl deep on his face, Harry watched the pavilion.

The King—a tall, elegant presence with long blond hair beneath a heavy golden crown—motioned for quiet.

"As you know, this is held in honour of my son, Draco, the Crown Prince of Slytherin. The winner—and _only_ the winner—will survive to begin their duty to him and myself," the King declared. Then, turning to the prisoners in the middle of the stadium, said, "This is the greatest honour that will ever be bestowed upon you, to serve your King. Win and you will survive. Lose ... and die."

The split-second of silence that followed preceded the raucous response of the crowds. An outburst of booming noise reverberated suddenly. The people began chanting, screaming for the games to begin. To watch the prisoners die. Together, they began crying out one word.

_"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"_

Horror-struck by their inhumanity, Harry glared at the royal family in the pavilion and saw the tiny specs of the King, the Queen and the Prince sitting in their mighty thrones. The possibility of dying "for them" angered him. His gaze was still locked onto the three nobles when the Prince, who Harry couldn't see that well from such a distance, turned and stared right back at Harry. Harry seized the opportunity to deliberately and noticeably spit on the ground on front of him. The message of disgust was unmistakably conveyed, and Harry allowed himself a small smirk.

While the crowds' roar continued, Harry turned to the prisoners around him who were still staring up at the crowds in the stands.

"Look, listen! We don't have to do this. They want us to all kill each other—but listen to me, if we work together—"

_Wh-wh-wh-whack!_

A blade spun straight past Harry's ear.

One of the prisoners had just tried to kill him!

"WAIT! Listen to me!" Harry yelled, but his plea was forgotten as the Ravenclaw prisoner in front of him immediately lifted his enormous axe, aimed at Harry's head.

In shock, Harry ducked quickly, missing the axe head.

He breathed out harshly, and glancing up, saw that the prisoners had all begun fighting each other.

The crowd went ecstatic.

The tournament has begun.

His attempt to unite all the prisoners together in a show of defiance was lost, as another soldier—this time, a Slytherin—ran at him, yelling, with spear. Centring himself, Harry timed it perfectly so that he dodged the Slytherin at the right time, and using his sword, slashed the blade across his spear-carrying arm. Immediately the arm slackened, and the Slytherin dropped the spear. Without a second glance, Harry picked up the spear and stabbed the wounded Slytherin with it in the gut. He rolled on the ground in pain, pressing his uninjured arm to his stomach.

Deeming him a fallen opponent, Harry swivelled to the rest of the prisoners. Already, six or seven soldiers had fallen down—Harry guessed most of them were already dead. He froze when he realised one of the unmoving bodies on the ground was Dean.

Anger clouded Harry's vision.

This wasn't right! He knew every man here was a good fighter, but their spur-of-the-moment, thoughtless attacks were getting people killed left, right and centre. They were driven by desperation.

And that's when it really hit Harry.

They weren't just fighting for themselves; they were fighting for their loved ones.

If Harry didn't do the same, Remus would be killed.

With his teeth tightly clenched, Harry lifted his sword. His peripherals informed him that another prisoner—a Ravenclaw—was closing in on his left side. He pivoted on his foot and swung his blade with acute precision. The Ravenclaw prisoner had no chance as Harry's sword found its mark straight into his chest, plunging directly to his heart. The Ravenclaw dropped like a sack of bricks, his sword falling, useless, to the ground. Harry hated himself for it. Not only was he killing this soldier, but he was signing the death warrant for his captured friend also. But what was he supposed to do?

Forcing himself to not dwell on it, Harry knelt to pick up the dead soldier's weapon, arming himself two-fold. It was a good thing he did, for in the next instance, two prisoners, both Slytherin, ran at him from opposite sides.

Ready with both his swords, Harry bent his knees slightly, and when they began their attacks from either side, Harry didn't hesitate. He parried every stroke, blocked every attack and defended himself perfectly. Then he turned the tables as his twin blades were forced past the swings of the Slytherins and began to hack at their bodies, aiming to kill, not hurt. Harry was focused and alert, using his sword like he was born wielding it. His deadly swings were right on the target as he noticed that his opponents were becoming more unstable by the second. Taking advantage of their clumsy footwork, Harry delivered two fatal blows, one to each soldier, crippling their attempts. They fell at the same time at Harry's feet, drained, ready for the death strike. And Harry delivered. Simultaneously, his arms rose holding his two swords. With a final look into the eyes of the men he was about to kill, he deftly thrust the weapons into their chests.

The crowd screamed.

The thrill of wielding a sword and the adrenaline of a fight flowed through Harry, giving him the energy he needed. The horror of the implications of every prisoner's death was forced into the back of his mind and suddenly, nothing could stop Harry.

He felt, more than heard, another soldier creep up from behind him. At the last possible second, Harry wheeled around, his blade poised to block his foe.

It was McTavish.

But it seemed any connection they may have had was completely severed as McTavish, without stopping, swung his sword again. Harry was about to call out to him to stop, but didn't. There was no point. They were all in this to win. If they didn't, they would never see their loved ones. It was this that was driving McTavish's attack—his desperate desire to keep his family and himself alive

"Sorry, Harry," he briefly grunted, a second before he lifted his sword in a killing stroke, that bore down on Harry.

But Harry was ready to defend, and used McTavish's momentum against him. Harry whirled on his feet, and while the Ravenclaw captain was still balancing himself after his forward thrust, Harry's sword swung around. McTavish barely had time to parry, as he righted his sword urgently.

"Don't be," Harry breathed out, thrusting again. But, again, their blades only continued to kiss, meeting each other after every stroke, so that neither sword could penetrate further. They were very evenly matched, and the multitude that watched them, it seemed, were lapping it up like bloodthirsty dogs. The din of the crowds never decreased.

They continued for some time, circling each other, weapons ready for action. Whenever McTavish struck, Harry easily defended; whenever Harry's blade drove forward, McTavish slapped it away.

Out of his peripherals, Harry saw that only a handful of prisoners remained besides himself and McTavish: another Ravenclaw and two Slytherins. His heart sank in sadness when he realised that the other Hufflepuffs had been killed as well.

Harry felt bile rise in his throat: he didn't think he could kill McTavish in cold blood like the others. Not when they had shared laughs before.

A horn, deeply-pitched but loud, sounded above the noise of the crowd. Harry and McTavish stopped their thrusts and looked around in confusion. Harry saw the others do the same, while the crowds gradually ceased their raucous cheering.

Everyone looked expectantly at the royals, desperate to see what other entertainment they were to expect. Against the harsh glint of the midday sun, Harry squinted up as well, fearing what was next.

"DO YOU WANT MORE?" the King cried from the shaded pavilion again. He was once again standing at the edge, arms raised to his audience, which yelled and screamed eagerly in agreement. Harry grimaced.

"_DO YOU WANT MORE_?"

The response was deafening. Harry flinched at the ground-breaking volume they reached. It was almost unbelievable.

"I'LL GIVE YOU MORE!" the King promised.

Harry was half curious, and half filled with dread as to what the Slytherin King could possibly mean. He didn't wait long for the answer. Suddenly, on either side of the oval dirt floor of the stadium, two large square-shaped sections of the ground opened up from beneath, and before Harry could breathe, a pair of enormous fully-grown lions sprung up from beneath the floor, one from each hole.

If possible, the roar of the fifty thousand Slytherins increased.

"God forbid ..." Harry heard McTavish mutter as they both stared wide-eyed at the huge carnivores that paced around the ends of the oval. Perhaps it was the pressure and tension, but Harry was positive that lions were not supposed to be that big. The only redeeming factor was the think metal-link chains that were clasped around their necks, anchoring them to the ground. Even still, it didn't detract from their menace an ounce.

Harry and McTavish glanced at each other and immediately made a silent pact to discontinue their fight, and instead turn their attentions to the lions and the other prisoners. Harry hoped—as heartless as it sounded—that either the lions or the others killed McTavish in the end, because he was sure he couldn't.

"Continue, prisoners!" the King called out. "We still need one winner!"

Harry would have happily wrung his neck.

Immediately, the two remaining Slytherins, who were ten or so metres away from Harry, had the same idea, and simultaneously, like birds of prey hunting for a meal, swooped down on the Ravenclaw soldier that was still staring at the lions with apprehension. He didn't have enough time to react, as both Slytherins reached him and, without warning, stabbed him from the front and back, mutilating his torso. For a second he stood there bizarrely, like a pin cushion that was pierced with needles. Harry saw him look down at the protruding blade in his belly, before he buckled. The two Slytherins grabbed their swords on his way down, and, turning to one another, began to attack: Slytherin against Slytherin.

Meanwhile, McTavish had made his way to one end of the oval floor where the first lion awaited him. Harry spared a brief thought for him before moving to the other end to the second beast. As he neared the creature, Harry tried to swallow his fear. But there was no use denying it, Harry was afraid. He had never fought an animal before—let alone one as huge as this one.

It truly was enormous, with legs that looked as if they could snap Harry's torso in a second. Long, sharp nails sprung from its paws, with promises to tear his skin apart, and Harry was certain the animal had teeth to match, though with its mouth closed, the pleasure of finding out for sure was postponed for the moment. It glared at Harry while is paced on its strong limbs, through eyes as black as tar.

Harry stood five metres away from it, gripping his weapon painfully and bending his knees slightly on legs that felt like they were made of tissue.

"C'mon ... c'mon, Harry," he whispered to himself.

Suddenly, the lion pounced.

It crossed the five metres between them in a heartbeat, giving Harry exactly no time to prepare himself. The animal swiped towards Harry with its man-crushing front paws. Fortunately, five metres was exactly the amount of slack the metal chain afforded the beast. If Harry were standing a few inches closer, he would have been killed instantly.

Shocked, Harry jolted, his eyes spread wide in surprise. Breathing quickly and sharply, Harry attempted to calm his heart—which was pounding angrily through the wall of his chest.

Then, opening its mouth wider than Harry would think possible, the lion roared directly at Harry, obviously incensed because of its leash. Before the lion stopped its roar, it had already sprung forward again, its front legs outstretched.

Harry ducked and rolled beneath it as it jumped, holding his sword aloft as it did. As he passed beneath its paws, his blade struck its limbs, engraving a shallow cut in the lion's front legs as the silver weapon slid through its fur. Harry rolled upright and faced the lion while it growled in anger and pain. The beast fixed Harry with a deadly glare.

-mp-

Seated on his large, but uncomfortable, Throne beneath the shade of the pavilion, Draco peered down at the prisoners with interest. He wasn't overly excited at the sight of dozens of men dying—he found the sport too barbaric and bloody—but he was filled with intrigue at which prisoner the winner would be. He had already bet on a few of them simply from first glance.

His view, unfortunately, wasn't spectacular. From this distance, the men below looked like mice scurrying around. But this was both a curse and a blessing. A curse because Draco couldn't really see the prisoners all that well to judge, but a blessing because all the gory details of the action was invisible, which was completely fine for Draco. He had learnt from a young age that he was never any good with seeing blood, particularly when it was the result of swords and axes and whatnot tearing open skin and killing people.

It was precisely for this reason that Draco had never really learnt to fight—only to defend himself in really dire circumstances. However, this competition was to ensure that Draco would never have to be in such a situation; which was why he sat on the edge of his throne and looked to see who would become his bodyguard.

There were four finalists left. One Ravenclaw, one Hufflepuff and two Slytherins. They would all fit the role well enough, but Draco kept his eyes peeled to find the winner. The last man standing would have his work cut out for him, as the attacks on Draco hadn't ceased. And with Slytherin preparing for the next siege on Durmstrang, security around the prince must be infallible.

Draco kept his eyes on the two small figures of the Slytherins battling it out in the middle of the arena—one had a sword, the other an axe. Draco had little idea on which weapon was better, nor did he care. Personally though, Draco always favoured swords in the hands of soldiers.

The fight didn't last long, but it ended with the sword-wielder burying deeply into the other's torso. Draco winced at the grotesque sight and turned his eyes to the Ravenclaw fighting the lion closest to where he was sitting. With a shock, he noticed that he was watching the final stages of the battle between man and beast.

The Ravenclaw prisoner—now swordless—had been defeated as he lay tired, bloodied and weak on the ground in front of the lion, which, Draco noticed, had a sword protruding ominously out of its body. Both of them were near death. Draco saw the lion bear down on him for one last attack, ready to kill. The Prince quickly closed his eyes to avoid seeing the horror.

Draco swallowed and after counting to five, opened his eyes to watch the final moments of the gruelling competition. It was down to Slytherin and Hufflepuff, and the tens of thousands of people around him were highly enjoying it. Draco silently praised his father for such an ingenious idea. Hosting this competition had won the heart of many of their citizens. Perhaps they should do this more often?

Casting his gaze to the far end of the arena, Draco saw the Hufflepuff prisoner—a tiny black-haired spec of a person from such a large distance—doing battle with the second lion. He watched the prisoner perform some extraordinary moves, weaving around the paws of the animal with his sword. He was certainly doing better than the newly killed Ravenclaw soldier had done.

The roar of the crowd suddenly increased, and Draco saw why. The last Slytherin prisoner was making his way towards the Hufflepuff, slowly and steadily, for the final fight. He was twirling his sword dangerously in his hand.

The Hufflepuff prisoner, preoccupied with the beast before him, never heard the Slytherin creep up from behind, with his blade fatally held aloft.

The crowd seemed to hold its breath. The Hufflepuff was about to die. They were about to uncover the victor.

-mp-

_Seconds_ before the Slytherin's sword would fatally stab the Hufflepuff in the back, Harry whirled around, looking completely unsurprised.

As if he had known all along that the Slytherin soldier was behind him.

And he did.

He just didn't want to show it.

As he pivoted on his foot, he parried the shocked Slytherin's sword away, which flew out of his hand and landed entirely out of reach. The Slytherin prisoner floundered for a moment like a fish out of water, mouth open at Harry's unexpected attack. Then Harry pierced the man's right bicep, and then his legs with his sword, crippling him. The prisoner howled with pain.

Fifty thousand voices erupted in screams in pleasure at the sudden turn of tables, and Harry, clearly in control, calm and collected, raised his sword arm high, the blade catching a ray of the sun, glinting wickedly. The Slytherin fell to his knees before him in defeat, blood flowing down from his arm and legs, and his left eyes swollen shut from a previous fight.

The din receded.

All waited for the final death stroke.

Out of his peripherals, Harry saw the King standing eagerly at the edge of the pavilion, watching fervently; he heard the din of the crowd; he sensed the lion behind him growling gently, but not a threat any longer; he knew all that was around him, all that was expected of him as the clear victor.

But Harry, in a show of defiance, did exactly the opposite. He dropped his sword.

The crowd, for the first time since Harry entered the godforsaken arena, hushed to silence.

In the pregnant silence, Harry seized his opportunity. With a loud voice, he cried out, "YOU'VE HAD YOUR FUN! YOU CAME TO SEE PEOPLE DIE AND YOU'VE GOT IT!" He glared at his silent audience. "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?"

-mp-

The victor's cry echoed throughout the oval arena.

Draco watched in shock at the man's actions. He was both very brave and very foolish.

"_ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?_" the prisoner yelled again.

The Prince glanced at his father, who stood calmly in front of his throne, completely unfazed by the winner's flagrant boldness and daring. Draco wondered whether his father would even allow the victor to become his bodyguard now after his defiance.

Then Lucius uttered, "Get him out of the arena," and immediately, two guards on either side of the pavilion sprang into action and rushed out, ready to obey.

It took all of thirty seconds for the message to be fulfilled. The Hufflepuff victor was escorted out of the arena by no less than twelve soldiers. Clearly, they thought that the more soldiers there were, the more protected they would be from the prisoner—evidently the best fighter in all the land. They needn't have been worried, though, as the victor quietly and without persuasion, followed them out.

-mp-

Immediately, Harry's hands were cuffed in rusted metal links that looked like they had dried crusted blood on them.

Keeping his head high and his mouth shut, Harry was led away from the enormous stadium and, for the third time in a week, was roughly put inside yet another caged and cramped wagon.

Half an hour later, when the dingy wooden doors were opened and Harry stepped out, Harry knew without a doubt where he was.

Craning his neck, Harry saw a colossal building made entirely of giant shiny obsidian-black bricks, pocketed here and there by darkly-tinted windows. The structure towered above Harry ominously and the very top, wafting in the wind, was a large green and silver flag—a glaring python coiled in the centre.

The Black Castle.

He had an appointment with the King.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Finally! Harry and Draco meet! It only took us 17 chapters_.


	18. First Impressions

Chapter 17

**First Impressions**

In front of Harry, dwarfing him, were a pair of vast wooden doors that stretched to the richly designed fresco ceiling, painted with images of bloody warfare. Two heavy brass doorknobs that were bigger than Harry's forearms were being twisted, and a moment later, an angry shove on his shoulder pushed him into the Throne Room.

At the far other end of the dark green carpet throw, past tall marble statues and high-arching windows, were three individuals who would capture anyone's attention in a heartbeat. The King, the Queen and the Prince—golden crowns adorning their blond heads—sat waiting on their regal thrones. Heavy robes of rich emerald colours and ornate designs clothed their bodies, and Harry felt distinctly underdressed and dirty in his simple muddied tunic, having literally just finished fighting for his life. His hands were still tied together and he was absolutely sure his hair was just as messy as always—probably worse—sticking up in all angles and caked with grime and blood. His skin, on the other hand, was more brown than white.

Eyes straight ahead, Harry's mind whirled with what the consequences of his actions in the arena earlier would be. He wondered if his "duty" to the King still stood, and a tiny voice in the back of mind reminded him that Remus' life was still at stake. Harry tried to force himself to not think of Remus dying because of him. His stomach dropped at the thought.

With impassive Slytherin guards on either side of him, he was led to stand before the King. His escorts bowed slightly to the royals, but Harry kept his head aloft, staring unabashedly at the King's face. Choosing not to bow would be another slight added to the already hefty list against his name. Harry began to wonder how far he could push the limit.

Then, curiously, something flickered in the King's gray eyes that caught Harry by surprise. The King looked at him peculiarly, his forehead creasing a little as the valley between his thin blond eyebrows dipped down. Harry self-consciously thought that there must be something on his face. Why would the King look at him so puzzled?

"What is your name?" the King said, his cool voice cutting the silence of the room like a blade. The question was lilted with inquisitiveness as he peered down at Harry over a long thin nose.

Harry hesitated, wondering if he should answer, or answer _truthfully_, for that matter. But for the sake of both his and Remus' lives, answered, "Harry."

"Harry who?" the King inquired further. "Who is your—" the King's eyebrow twitched, "—father?"

Harry noticed the slight pause before the mention of his father. He answered the King, who continued to look mystified by Harry, "I have never known my father, sir." He had deliberately chosen not to announce his surname—his instincts told him to withhold that bit of information.

The King didn't seem satisfied with Harry's answer, but Harry could care less. Eventually, the royal said, "You are from Hufflepuff?" though it sounded more like a statement.

"Yes, sir."

"A knight, I presume."

"Yes, sir."

There was silence for a brief moment. Harry continued to feel like there was something wrong with his appearance as the King never stopped observing him with his perplexed eyes, as if he was having trouble believing what he was seeing. Harry glanced at the Queen, sitting to the right, and momentarily relaxed. At least she wasn't looking at him like he had warts.

He swivelled his eyes to the third presence. He noticed that the Prince, too, was examining Harry with a calculating look—sizing him up—but at least he didn't share his father's quizzical brow line. Harry also took note that the Prince looked roughly about his own age, not that it mattered or anything.

The King spoke once more, startling Harry.

"I have decided to proceed to give you the privilege you rightfully won today," he declared. Harry wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing. "From this moment, you are assigned the duty of sole bodyguard to my son, the Prince. His life is constantly in danger, and it is your job to be with him and ensure he is always safe and away from danger. If you value your life and the life of your friend whom we have in custody, no harm will ever befall my son. Is this clear?"

Harry glanced back to the Prince, who was looking straight at him with piercing silver eyes, which seemed to convey a silent and subtle message of _please._ Harry knew he wasn't given much of a choice—it was either this or death. But he didn't have to like agreeing.

From first glance, the Prince struck Harry as a spoilt and egotistic young man, and this only confirmed it. Harry dreaded the idea of waiting on him hand and foot and conforming to his every whim. Was this really all his skills with the sword were coming to? Still, it was better than death. More than that, it was better than _Remus'_ death.

"Yes," Harry said, making sure to keep all traces of emotion out of his voice.

The Prince leaned over to whisper something in his father's ear. Harry saw the King nod firmly in response, and then face out say, "My son would like a word with you." He cast a look around the Throne Room to all the guards on duty. "Leave."

His command was instantly obeyed. The soldiers around Harry and those around the edges of the Throne Room marched out. The King and Queen also stood and drifted away through a set of doors in the back of the room.

And Harry was left alone with the Slytherin Prince.

-mp-

Draco stared at the prisoner and sized him up. For someone who had just fought the best of them in the land, he didn't look too fazed.

Physically, he looked a mess, with filth and blood covering his skin like a thin layer of repulsive icing, giving him an all-round dirty-brown appearance. Even the originally white torn cloth that dressed him (rather inadequately, Draco surmised, as he was afforded a view of quite a lot of skin) had the same dried tone as the rest of him. Draco also suspected that his hair colour was, in fact, black, or at least a very dark brown, but was now made a few shades lighter due to the dust and grime that had settled in amongst his wild and untamed locks. The state of its unkempt made Draco frustrated and he itched to fix it.

The only non-brown part of his appearance was his eyes, Draco noticed lucidly. They were irrefutably green. Draco distractedly mused that when Harry donned the Slytherin armour, it would accentuate his eyes. It was then he noticed that the prisoner was looking _him_ directly in the eye, and had been for quite some time now.

"So," Draco spoke in the silent hall, a little frazzled to be so carefully scrutinized by him. "You are to be my new protector." Draco had learnt from his father to already keep his gaze and voice level and intimidating. Emotion was weak.

"So it appears," came Harry's derisive reply, through an unblinking gaze.

Draco inwardly frowned at his nerve. "Do you suppose you are up to it?" he asked, trying to sound a little menacing.

He saw Harry shrug his dirty shoulders a little. "After facing a lion, you can't be that difficult," he said offhandedly.

Draco narrowed his eyes. _What arrogance!_ _And how dare he compare me to a lion!_ "I assure you the task will not be easy," Draco snapped, before remembering that he needed to reign in his irritation. In a more sombre voice, he stated, "You will be expected to be by my side always, obey all my commands and, if required, die for me."

Infuriatingly, Harry shrugged carelessly again, as if the thought of sacrificing himself was not all the difficult.

Draco continued more sternly. "My father wasn't lying, you know. My life is _constantly_ in danger."

This, finally, got a proper response out of the prisoner, albeit one word. "Why?"

"Karkaroff wants my head," Draco answered carelessly, deliberately using a devil-may-care air to make a show of it. Harry wasn't to know he was actually rather frightened by the many attempts for his life.

The prisoner's response, however, was less than satisfactory. "Who?"

Draco blinked. "Karkaroff, you _plebeian_," he sneered impatiently. "The King of Durmstrang?"

Recognition floated across Harry's features. "Durmstrang," he nodded in understanding, completely undaunted at being insulted. At least he had _heard_ of the country. Draco would have called for a rematch otherwise. Then, Harry asked once more, "Why?"

Draco huffed at his one-word sentences, frustrated by his unacceptable amount of enthusiasm for the cause. "Slytherin and Durmstrang are at war. A Slytherin solider killed the Durmstrang Prince on the battlefield, and now Karkaroff wants revenge," Draco rattled off quickly. "As the war continues, my life has been constantly threatened. I used to have six guards following me everywhere, but thank _Merlin_, my father has finally seen sense. Now, it is your job to make sure that nothing happens to me."

Harry's eyebrows dipped in what Draco supposed was anger. He could see thoughts tick away on Harry's mind. "Why not just find your protector from the Empire? Why stage a competition where the death of twenty or so men is on your hands?"

Draco sighed loudly, but inwardly pleased he got more than a monosyllabic answer out of the dirt-covered Hufflepuff. "We tried," was all Draco gave in answer to Harry's first question.

The corner of Harry's mouth lifted a fraction into a smirk. "Couldn't find anyone good enough out of Slytherin, then?"

Draco wanted to slap the arrogance out of the prisoner, and the smirk off his face. "My father wants the best for me," he answered with his head tilted up.

Harry's smirk remained. "I'm flattered you think that I'm the best".

Furious, Draco's eyes blazed. He opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he scrunched his nose in disgust and cried, "You smell and look like dung. Get yourself clean before you come into my presence again!"

And with a final glare at Harry's incessant grin and his irritating eyes—which had yet to break contact with his own—Draco stood elegantly and marched out.

-mp-

When the Prince left the room, Harry stood where he was, entirely unsure of where to go or what to do now. His conversation with the Prince replayed in his head, but he pushed it aside for a moment, thinking he would deal with one problem at a time; and his first priority was figuring out what happens next.

Hesitantly, he walked across the empty hall to the large double doors and grasped the polished handles to open it. As he walked through, the guards standing on either side of the doorway grabbed his arms roughly and Harry found himself being led once again.

With his small entourage of Slytherin guards, Harry traversed down many hallways, past numerous doors and dozens of windows. He lost track of any sense of direction. Every corridor looked the same with heavy statues occupying recesses here and there, large potted plants jutting out from corners, and enormous suits of armour standing to attention every few metres, looking entirely ominous through the thin slits of their helmets, weapons dangerously poised.

Altogether, Harry felt like he was in another world.

At long last, the guards released their tight grip on Harry's upper arms—they had almost gone numb—and Harry walked into an incredibly large bathroom. The guards shut the doors loudly, leaving Harry alone.

He was just wondering why anyone needed a lavatory this big when the sullied and ragged dirt-crusted tunic wrapping his body was unceremoniously stripped off him.

"Hey!" Harry cried in surprise, and futilely tried to cover his nude self.

He was roughly pushed by a stern-looking portly woman whose height barely reached Harry's chest. She looked at Harry disapprovingly as if to say; '_don't even bother trying to cover up, boy. I've seen many of the likes of you before_.'

"Get in," she barked abruptly.

Harry turned to see a bath filled with water on one side of the room. As quickly as possible—both to avoid being entirely on display for long, and to escape the wrath of the plump woman—he rushed to the bath and submerged himself hurriedly.

He shouldn't have. The water was near boiling.

"AH!" Harry cried, lifting himself out of the water—but he realised the only alternative would be to get out of the water and once again be naked for the entire world to see. Opting for the lesser of two evils, Harry carefully and slowly lowered his torso back into the searing hot water, waiting for his body to acclimatise.

He wasn't given much time as the short woman came busting over and poured a large bucket filled with water of the same temperature on Harry's head.

"_Ow_, woman! Stop!" he sputtered through a drenched face. But it fell on deaf ears as stout maid proceeded to grab a coarsely bristled brush and literally _saw_ the layer of dirt off Harry. Harry suspected three or four layers of his skin were also sand-papered off, and by the end of the bizarre form of torture, Harry felt like a freshly-plucked chicken.

The soap came next as Harry's whole body was covered in white suds, cleaning more parts of his body than Harry knew he had. One thing was for sure, the maid was very thorough.

"Stand up," she demanded, and Harry, now past the point of embarrassment—she had _definitely_ seen every part of him now—stood up in defeat. She roughly towelled him dry, rubbing the dry material hard against his raw and sensitive skin. Harry felt tears in his eyes and was about to suggest he could dry himself when she stopped and threw an undershirt, a tunic and breeches in his face, with a stern command to, "get dressed!"

Harry did, under her watchful gaze. When the last piece of his attire was in place he was led outside the massive bathroom and once again escorted out by the guards.

Through more corridors and past more statues they went, until they reached an impressive-looking door at the end of a long hallway. The stopped outside it and the guard on his left grunted, "This is the entrance to Prince Draco's chambers." Then he pointed to a smaller door to their right. "This is your room."

The other soldier opened the door to Harry's room and they walked in.

For a bedroom, it was enormous, and Harry quickly wondered how much bigger the Prince's room must be. This one was probably the size of his and Remus' whole house put together, Harry estimated. A large bed was in the middle, with four posts in every corner, a chest of drawers next to it, and a wardrobe off in one corner. There were also two doors on either side of his room.

"One leads to your bathroom," the guard explained. "The other leads directly to the Prince's chambers, in case of any emergencies."

Harry wearily nodded his understanding, and the guards, feeling that their duty was fulfilled, left him. Closing the door behind them, Harry was left alone. It was then the day's dealings came rushing up to meet Harry, and he, with depleted energy, realised the extent of his exhaustion.

Without a second thought, he collapsed on the bed, bone tired and ready for sleep.

Many things had happened today, and almost all made Harry's head spin unpleasantly. He had hundreds of questions and wanted them all answered. But right now was the time for sleep.

And sleep he did.

-mp-

A single light from a flaming torch chased the pitch-black darkness of the dungeons away. A grizzled and heavyset soldier, holding his light aloft, descended down the dank, stone staircase and entered the prison.

"Oi! Yeh awake?" growled the guard roughly, jerking the torch in Remus' direction, who was sitting, shivering, on the wet stones behind metal bars that isolated him.

In a small voice, Remus mumbled, "Yeah."

The prison guard came closer, illuminating the prisoner. His face was gaunt, sunken and pale, with eyes that looked as if they weren't seeing anything. Underfed and trembling from the cold, Remus had huddled himself to keep out the cold, and his thin rags did nothing to help.

"Yeh're bein' moved," the guard grunted and reached into his pocket and took out a large ring from which a dozen or so keys jangled. He pawed his way to find the right one, fit it into Remus' lock and swung creaking metal door open. Remus looked on in confusion, but didn't disobey as he was guided out of his cage.

They exited the dungeons and Remus saw the sky outside for the first time in a little more than a week. The sky was the colour of ink, dotted here and there with tiny stars. A half-moon hung ominously above them and Remus gulped in fear.

They were standing on a shoreline, feet away from the sloshing black water that crawled onto the sand, grasping for hold before sliding back. Bobbing softly near them was a small canoe. The guard pushed Remus towards it and, understanding what he wanted, Remus climbed in the small raft. The guard sat behind him, and under the light of the ghost-like moon, the duo set sail on agitated waters in the middle of the night.

Although incredibly tired, hungry and cold, Remus felt alert. A terrible feeling flooded him as the guard urged their little boat on. He remained silent and calm but inside he was frightened. His initial hopes of being set free were dashed away by a foreboding sense of doom. Remus could guess where they were taking him, and the thought alone made his insides feel like they had disappeared.

An hour later, Remus' fears were dreadfully confirmed.

Ahead, loomed a nightmare—a towering stone structure set dangerously on sopping craggy rocks, where violent waves crashed against its immense walls. In their little canoe, they edged closer and closer, their journey made perilous with the angry water.

_Azkaban._

Remus felt he would rather die.

As their little raft reached a small inlet of the terrifying island, Remus found he couldn't move for fear. The guard gruffly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the boat and forced him to walk forward to a small door placed seamlessly into the black, wet rock face.

Now shivering violently, Remus felt his stomach drop as the guard pulled the wooden door open to reveal a blackness that was almost tangible. The guard delivered another hard shove and Remus tumbled inside the doorway.

Fear gripped Remus' heart and stole his breath as the sound of hundreds of prisoners' wails infiltrated Remus' ears. The sounds of men slowly dying, decaying, rotting made Remus want to vomit. He shivered—this time from dread and not cold. The guard pulled him forward, and the din of the horrors of Azkaban grew louder.

Remus was about to turn and run back out but the guard seemed to have guessed his intention. Gripping Remus' arm tightly, he yanked him to a set of stairs inbuilt into the rock face that led up past Remus could see.

He struggled in the grasp, but in his weakened state, Remus could only follow. On their upward journey, they passed cages and cages of prisoners who looked like death itself. They clawed at their bars, screaming, crying, ripping out moth-infested hair. These people didn't want escape; they craved death. Remus tried valiantly to not look at them but he couldn't help but watch their pitiful forms and hear their bloodcurdling screams.

Up and up they went. With every step, Remus' legs felt like dead weights.

After hundreds of stairs, the guard pushed Remus forcibly into an empty cage. He went in, feeling like he wasn't in control of his body anymore. The guard barred the entrance and retreated back down. Remus, with nothing left to do, wept in despair.

-mp-

Remus awoke to the sound of his neighbour on his right howling and wailing. Blocking his ears didn't help as the sound continued to pierce his very heart, filling him with the deepest depression. There was no way of telling the time but Remus was sure the cries continued for well over an hour—rising above the din of the rest of the hundreds of prisoners.

Slowly, madly, Remus felt himself go insane with the incessant sobbing.

Then, the prisoner on his _left_ side yelled in frustration.

"Shut up, you fool! Quit your whining!"

Ice flooded Remus and his stomach suddenly clenched at this new voice. He snapped his head to the left, as if he could see straight through the brick partition.

His neighbour on the right, however, continued his bawling, his hollow pitch climbing higher.

"Shut up!" was the reply once more from his left.

Remus' breath lodged in his throat.

_He knew that voice._

Still glancing at the solid, rocky wall that separated his cage from his left neighbour's cage, Remus noticed a small weathered hole in the wall a metre or so off the ground that went all the way through to the other side.

Carefully, cautiously, Remus crept towards the hole, his mind whirring with impossibilities. The man on the other side of the wall had a voice that stirred up memories that Remus buried twenty years ago. His heart contracted painfully, going wild inside his ribcage as he came to the wall and knelt. There was an ache in his stomach that wouldn't go away.

Taking a deep breath that strangely left him short of air, Remus touched his nose to the wet brick and with one weary brown eye peered through the small hole.

One small peek was all it took for Remus to bounce back suddenly as though burned by the bricks. He was panting, eyes wide, thinking he was going insane.

But there was no denying it.

Even though his hair was longer and thinner, and his facial hair covered half his face, Remus knew who it was.

The man on the other side of the wall was Sirius Black.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Harry realises his new job protecting the Prince is going to require much of his patience. _


	19. The Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 18

**The ****Prince of Slytherin**

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Harry bolted upright in his bed, eyes wide and alert. Quickly, he assessed his unfamiliar circumstances and the memory of yesterday flooded his mind. A wave of misery accompanied it. He remembered where he was. Far from home, and no way out.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"Bloody hell," he murmured tiredly.

Cursing the person who decided to wake him before the sun had even risen, Harry forced himself out of his warm bed and meandered to the door, shivering as the cold air hit his skin.

"What?" he grumbled angrily as he pulled open the door, but instantly dropped his irritation when he saw the mammoth of a man on the other side.

More than a head taller than Harry, and enormously built, the sight of the soldier chased away all traces of sleep from Harry. His face was stern and heated as he stared at Harry with menace and dislike. His eyes were pitch black and shrouded under two thick eyebrows that almost joined in the middle. His mouth was pasted in a sneer that Harry was sure hadn't left his face since his birth.

"You. Hufflepuff," the man grunted, startling Harry with his gravelly tone. "Get dressed."

Harry stared at the giant with disbelief, wondering if everyone in the Empire possessed the same abrupt, gauche attitude that he did. Did no one here know how to say 'hello'?

"Get dressed in what?" Harry asked him firmly, determined not to be intimidated by the man.

The Slytherin stared at Harry with something akin to repulsion that he would dare to ask him a question. Without a word, he pointed to a spot behind Harry. Harry turned and saw the wardrobe. _Of course,_ he thought irritably, marching over and pulling open the solid wooden doors of the cabinet.

Hanging right in the centre was chain mail and a full set of Slytherin armour, with a sword and shield with a great emerald snake curled in the centre. Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief—did they really expect him to wear this? It would go against everything he believed.

"I am _not_ wearing that," he said adamantly turning back around to his door. "I'm not a Slytherin."

The giant's eyes narrowed at Harry's nerve. "I don't care. Get. Dressed. Now."

Harry rolled his eyes at the imperative and retrieved the chain mail. He slipped the heavy armour onto his shoulders and strapped on his breastplate and right-shoulder guard. Immediately, his entire torso felt ten times heavier but strangely, he felt a sense of comfort in the military attire. He tightened the belt around his waist, and slipped his sword into its sheath on his left hip. Thick, leather gloves with metal gauntlets on top covered his hands and forearms. With a deliberate final look at the green brigandine garment decorated with the Slytherin python in its centre, Harry closed the closet door. He would wear the armour, but not the label.

He turned to look at the Slytherin giant. "I'd rather die than wear a snake on my chest," he murmured in a low voice, marching over to the doorway.

The man sneered in disgust. "We'll see about that," he threatened. "Follow me."

Harry tried to map out their journey to wherever they were going and begin to piece together the layout of the castle, but it was impossible. The moment Harry thought he had a grasp on the maze of corridors, they would be faced with a foyer with six new directions to walk and Harry would once again feel like a fly caught in a web of interlinked braches.

Eventually, their journey led them outdoors to an enormous grassy courtyard, filled with dozens of soldiers undergoing early-morning training. Harry squinted against the first rays of the rising sun to watch over the session.

"This is the Square," his guide grunted, jerking his chin out to the quadrangle before them. "Report here at five every morning to begin your daily training."

"Training?" Harry echoed. "Why?"

"As the Prince's security, you must ensure you are always at your best. The King has requested that I watch over your training specifically and make sure you're pulling your weight. You need to train, and you will be tested."

"In what way?" Harry asked, not liking the sound of his enforced regime. Yes, he liked to train, but not under the eye of the Slytherin King.

"With sword, spear, bow, lance and anything else I deem necessary. Master all of these," the giant said impassively.

"And what if I refuse?"

Slowly, his companion turned to glare at him. "Refuse, and your friend taken hostage dies. If I find that at any moment you are not completing your training satisfactorily, or if the Prince's life is at all in danger, I will order the execution of your friend and ensure that you watch. Is that understood?"

Harry felt fury boiling under his skin but clenched his jaw to keep it hidden. At this point, appearing unattached and unemotional was his weapon. "With all due respect," he hissed in a tone that suggested that he held no respect at all, "If I am to be your Prince's bodyguard, why shouldn't I be with him now?" Harry asked derisively, not because he wanted to be with the Prince, but because he had had enough of being told what to do.

"The earliest the Prince awakes is nine. You've got plenty of time to train."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

_Nine. Of course. Bloody self-righteous ponce. _

"I've got plenty of time to sleep too," Harry murmured under his breath.

The Slytherin giant straightened his back and towered over Harry. "You will do well to learn your place. You may have won yesterday's competition, but here you are scum until I say you deserve to be called more than that. As of right now, I am your Battle Master, Lord Nott, and you _will_ listen to me. Now get to the field and draw your sword, Hufflepuff. Your first test is against me."

Always alert for a fight, even if it was at an ungodly morning hour, Harry marched over to the Square, the Battle Master following him. The soldier closest to them turned and stared at Harry. Some, Harry could tell, were looking at his armour and wondering why he was only wearing his silver chain mail and not the Slytherin crest on top. Ignoring their stares, Harry turned around and took a ready stance, drawing his sword and testing its weight against his palm.

He was barely given a second before Nott attacked.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed in shock while blocking the unexpected parry, before shaking off his surprise and joining the fight.

"Be sharp!" Nott barked, advancing forward again.

Harry blocked, and twirled his sword to place an attack of his own, stabbing in the direction of his opponent's chest. Nott reacted swiftly and slid the length of his sword down Harry's to push it away. The metals created a sharp _twang!_ noise at the impact.

Harry spun on his heels, took a solid stance and blocked another blow with ease. Nott advanced again with a series of blows and Harry's sword began jumping left-right-left-right to maintain his end of the fight. He made sure to keep his footing right and steady on the ground. It would be humiliating if he suddenly tripped.

Harry could sense Nott was beginning to realise that Harry was no novice to the sword. Nott's every thrust was countered, while Harry himself was not found wanting. Gritting his teeth, Harry swung his weapon over his head and bore down with powerful force, striking steel against steel with an intoxicating metallic ring that Harry had grown up hearing.

Harry knew swords like no one else and Nott was just another enemy he had to face. This was no different than facing Ron on the sparring fields back at home.

"Have I passed your test?" Harry asked through a clenched jaw, after finding his sword locked in an X with Nott's weapon.

"Knock this out of my hand and maybe you might," Nott replied.

Harry allowed a small smirk to form on his face. This, he could do. Fixing a new goal into his mind, Harry made sure he did everything to get there. He took a step back and used momentum to drive forward into another forceful parry. Nott whipped his sword up just in time to block, but Harry instinctively knew he had the upper hand.

Deciding to end this sooner rather than later, Harry cleverly placed his right foot directly beside Nott's left leg to trap him. It was a tricky manoeuvre Shacklebolt had taught him years ago, and it worked. Harry attacked from the left and saw the moment of realisation dawn on Nott's face when he realised he had nowhere to go with Harry's foot stopping him. Frantically, the raised his sword to block but he didn't have enough strength in the stance of his body to hold off the blow and before he could blink, Nott's sword was flung out of his hand.

Harry's sword continued until it stopped an inch away from stabbing into Nott's chest. He held it hovered above the Battle Master's armour. The sound of their heavy breathing was the only noise. It was then that Harry realised they had attracted a crowd. Everyone had stopped to look at their duel, and Harry felt a wave of self-assured pride rush through him.

Slowly, he retreated and sheathed his sword back into his belt.

"You didn't kill me," Nott grunted, staring at Harry.

Harry frowned. "And you wanted me to?" he asked dryly.

"I need to know you will have no hesitation to kill when the time comes," the Battle Master explained.

Harry fixed him with a fierce look. "I have no qualms killing an enemy."

"What about an enemy of the Prince?"

Harry realised what he was trying to say. _Would Harry be willing to kill someone who was the Prince's foe but Harry's friend?_ "The Prince doesn't have my loyalty," Harry hissed. "My allegiance cannot be blackmailed out of me."

Nott signalled to a soldier standing nearby, who instantly raised his bow and arrow and aimed the missile at Harry's chest. Harry tensed his muscles in shock.

"The Prince _has_ your loyalty, Hufflepuff," Nott spat. "He had it the moment you won the tournament. Your life is now sworn to him, to the monarchy and to the Empire. From this moment on, you _will_ protect him with your life or die trying. Your past is dead to you. Your future is beside the Prince, defending him at all costs, and killing anything and anyone that threatens him. Is this understood?"

Harry remained still, keeping his menacing glare frozen on the Battle Master.

Nott spoke again. "I'll ask you again: will you kill for the Prince, regardless of your own opinions?"

"Only if they deserve to die," Harry answered sternly. "I will not kill a man purely out of spite or petty anger. If he's wronged me, he will face my sword."

The Battle Master glared at him dangerously for a moment longer, before declaring. "Find a horse. Let's see how good you are atop a steed, Hufflepuff."

"My name's Harry," he corrected.

"I don't care."

Two hours later, Harry's right arm was sore. It seemed as if they made lances heavier in the Empire than what he was used to back home. Harry had been forced to survive wave after wave of jousting, until more than twenty lances had been crushed against his shoulder guards, and he himself had felled a dozen foes from his own punishing blows.

He was bone-weary and dripping sweat. But the Battle Master wasn't through with him yet. It was still eight in the morning. One more hour until this morning torture was over.

"Come with me," Nott snapped shortly, and Harry, already used to his uncouth commands, decided to go along with him.

Nott led him to a table with a large parchment spread across it. At first glance, Harry thought it depicted a maze, but on closer inspection, he realised it was the drawing of the Black Castle's layout, with every room and every corridor clearly depicted and labelled.

His eyebrows shot up. Access to such information could be vital in the future. Harry could hardly he was handed _a map_ of the castle! If only they knew of the plans of war he had in his mind; Harry would bet his sword arm they wouldn't let him anywhere near a blueprint.

"As the Prince's security, you will need to know the Castle like the back of your hand. Study it and know it. In case of an emergency, you are responsible for getting the Prince to safety. Every guard posted on duty around the Castle will be yours to instruct," Nott explained in a gruff voice, as if the very idea of having Harry in charge was about as palatable as horse dung.

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "I get to tell them what to do?" he asked for clarity's sake.

"No, you will not '_get to tell them what to do'_!" Nott echoed in a voice that was raised a couple of octaves. Harry resented that. He didn't sound like a girl! "You have a responsibility, first and foremost, to the Prince. If it is in _his_ best interests, you are to use any and everything available." Nott glared at Harry. "Make no mistake, his life _is_ in danger. You'll have your work cut out for you, Hufflepuff, and if you fail, God himself won't stop me from putting you through the most agonising torture, you'll want me to kill you."

Harry maintained his impassive stare. He wouldn't respond to the threats.

Nott continued, "Study this map and then get yourself cleaned up. When the Prince wakes up, you will be at his door and ready. Is that clear?"

"Certainly," Harry answered with a hint of mockery.

After one last long ominous glare, Nott thrust a smaller piece of parchment. "This is the Prince's daily schedule. You'll be living it for the foreseeable future so I suggest you learn it."

And with that, Nott left.

Harry glanced down at the schedule.

_Ten a.m. – Breakfast._

_ Eleven a.m. – Morning ride._

_ Midday – Lunch with Lady Pansy._

"God have mercy," Harry mumbled.

-mp-

After bathing and redressing in his chain mail armour—sans the Slytherin crest—Harry stood outside the entrance to the Prince's chambers, waiting until he arose and Harry's duties would begin. He had considered briefly avoiding his duty and boycotting the Prince, but he decided there was more at stake than just his pride. If he could pull this off for a few weeks, then that would give Harry enough to time to learn the inner workings of the Black Castle and also find and rescue Remus.

_Just a few weeks_, Harry thought miserably. A few weeks of being the Prince's lapdog and then he would fight back with a vengeance the likes of which the Empire had never seen before.

A small and frail looking adolescent approached the door Harry was guarding. Harry observed him and, knowing his duty, asked, "Where are you going?"

"T—to the Prince, my lord," the boy murmured, avoiding eye contact with Harry, obviously intimidated. "I am his manservant ... I help him get dressed."

Harry stared in disgust at both the boy's job description and the Prince's apparent lack of ability to take care of himself. "Can't he do it himself?" he murmured.

The boy's eyes widened and Harry could see him trying to search for a proper answer to Harry's unexpected question. Taking pity on the feeble boy, Harry said, "Never mind. Go dress the Prince." Harry sneered like he had a horrible taste in his mouth.

The boy nodded and scurried inside the door like a terrified mouse.

Harry was not impressed to find he was still waiting for the Prince half an hour later. How long can it possibly take to get ready? And he bloody well had help too!

"Bloody royalty," he mumbled to himself, sighing loudly and irritably. He began to wonder what on earth was taking the Prince so long. He decided he didn't want to know and counted his blessing that he was waiting _outside_ the room, rather than inside. If he had been forced to stand guard while the Prince was dressing, Harry would have gouged his own eyes out.

Suddenly, Harry heard someone inside the room scream.

"Ahh!" came the distressed cry and Harry automatically knew it was the Prince.

His muscles tensed and he began to wonder if he should enter the room. It was his responsibility to protect the Prince, but Harry desperately didn't want to go into his chambers. He was just about to decide to ignore the cry, when the Prince's shrieked again.

"Ah! Get it off! _Get it off!_!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just a few weeks," he promised to himself under his breath, before drawing his sword, slamming the door open and barging inside.

The first thing he noticed was that—thank _Merlin_—the Prince was fully clothed and the young servant was cowering near the wardrobe. The blond royal jumped at the sudden entry and spun to face him, his face morphed in fright. It took a moment for the Prince to recognise him, and even less time until he started screaming.

"_You_!" he yelled, with abnormally wide eyes, pointing a finger at Harry angrily. "Supposed to protect me, are you? Then _why in Merlin's name_ do I wake up to find _that_?" He rotated his arm until it was pointing at something on his bed.

Harry craned his neck to see what he was pointing at but didn't see anything.

"Find what?" he asked calmly and casually.

The Prince's mouth dropped open in fury. "_That_, you undeserving cretin! Get it out of my bed!"

Harry jumped at the sheer force behind the Prince's demands, and warily approached the enormous four-poster bed. As he got closer, he saw a hairy eight-legged spider as large as his palm, resting ominously between the Prince's crisp white sheets. His eyebrows shot up. He hadn't been expecting that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could almost imagine Ron's face if he ever laid eyes on the large insect. His friend would likely faint.

"What's taking so long? Get rid of it!" the Prince demanded from somewhere behind him.

"Hang on," Harry said irritably, trying to figure out a way to coax it off the bed.

"Just kill it!" the Prince shrieked.

"_Wait_ a second."

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry. Did you want a moment alone with it? Shall I leave you to serenade the thing? Perhaps a lovely candlelit dinner—"

"Bloody hell, would you _shut up_?" Harry snapped.

The Prince was blessedly shocked into complete silence, mouth hung open in visible anger, and gray eyes wide open in shock.

"Thank you," Harry muttered to the infuriated royal before turning back to the spider. Cleverly, he lay down the blade of his sword right next to the spider and after a moment, watched as the creature crawled onto the flat steel. Carefully, he lifted his weapon with the spider now perched on the edge and moved to the large window. In one swift movement, he flung the massive insect out. "There. Happy?"

The Prince finally found his voice again. "How _dare_ you!"

"Oh, I thought you wanted it gone. Want me to bring it back?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"You can't speak to me like that, you barbarian! I am the Prince!" the Prince declared, outraged.

"And I just saved your life," Harry replied shortly.

"Saved my life?" the royal echoed incredulously. "It was hardly about to kill me!"

"The way you were screaming down the Castle walls would suggest otherwise! I wouldn't be surprised if my friends back in Hufflepuff heard you!" Harry replied hotly, becoming increasingly agitated by the self-righteous prince.

The Prince gasped in anger. "How _dare_ you!" he said again. "Get out of my sight!"

"Gladly!" Harry yelled back. "And by the way, don't take so long, yeah? You're taking so long getting ready I actually saw the plant in the corridor _growing_."

"Like you would know anything about grooming," the Prince snapped dangerously. "I can't even stand the sight of you, you're so disgusting. Your hair looks like it hasn't been washed since last year and your skin is positively _brown_."

"Shows the kind of man I am, _princess_," Harry growled back.

Draco's face froze in absolute unbelieving shock before he marched over to Harry and raised his hand dangerously.

_SMACK!_

Harry's winced as pain blossomed in his left cheek by the force of the Prince's handprint. He righted his head to see the Prince glaring bloody murder at him.

"Never ... and I mean _never_ talk to me like that again, do you understand? I could have your mother raped, your friend beheaded and every one of your fingers and toes broken in a heartbeat before I slit your throat myself. Speak to me like that again, and I will make sure you won't have a tongue to ever speak again."

Harry didn't break his eye contact with the Prince, determined to seem unfazed. But truthfully, he knew he had gone a little too far. If he wanted to keep his job long enough to break Remus out, he needed to do better than that. He was bloody pissed at the blond menace before him, but he needed to learn to hide his anger and go along with the task.

Without another word, Harry turned and walked out of the room, his pride too bruised to allow him to speak, let alone apologise.

Harry took a few long moments to calm himself down and get his breathing and temper back under control. He had no idea how he was supposed to manage even a few weeks guarding the Prince, when mere _seconds_ in his company pushed all of Harry's buttons in the wrong ways. It would test him in every way, but Harry knew he needed to succeed. Remus depended on it. He needed to prove he could fulfil his duty, but to do that, he needed to be able to be around the Prince and not want to rip his hair out and insult him like he had just done.

Truthfully, Harry began to wonder why the Prince hadn't set his execution date already. His slur earlier was no simple crime and Harry would not have expected the Prince to let such a degrading remark pass by with little interest. Therefore for one reason or another, the Prince didn't want Harry dead. Harry frowned and tried to make sense of it.

It was another whole hour before the Prince deigned to open his chamber door and Harry was sure he took so long just to spite him. He glared at the blond royal spitefully, noting his perfectly combed back hair that almost shone in its pallor. Harry would have dearly loved to mess it up, but decided he should restrain himself.

"In my great mercy, I have decided to spare you life," the Prince said aloofly. But then he glared at Harry dangerously. "But make no mistake, _slave_," he warned, emphasising Harry's new demeaning title, "One more slight and I will have you hanged."

"Noted," Harry mumbled, jaw clenched in fury. _Slave?_

Sticking his chin up in a show of authority, the Prince stalked past Harry. Sneering, Harry did the only thing he could do and followed him.

Their journey to wherever they were going proceeded in complete silence, though Harry had a million things he wanted to yell at the Prince. He would wager the Prince wanted to do the same to him.

As they approached an enormous dining room, one the servants at the door bowed and said, "Breakfast is served, your Highness."

The Prince acted as if no one had spoken to him and Harry rolled his eyes at his self-importance. Before they could enter the hall, the Prince spun and fixed Harry with a menacing glare, "If you value your life, you will keep what happened this morning a secret."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Sorry?"

The royal sighed impatiently. "Don't tell _anyone_ about the spider."

"Why?"

"Because my father will think that only one of you isn't enough and this whole thing would have been for nothing," the Prince explained exasperatedly.

Harry couldn't make sense of it. "What are you talking about? It was just a stupid spider."

"_No_, it wasn't, you imbecile. It was another attempt on my life!" he snapped.

Harry fixed the Prince with a dead-pan look. "The spider," he said deprecatingly.

"_Yes!_ It was another Durmstrang scheme to kill me! And if my father thinks that you alone won't be able to defend me then he'll give me more guards and that'll be the death of me!"

"And that would be a bad thing how ...?" Harry asked, lifting one side of his mouth up in a smirk.

The Prince stared Harry down with a murderous look. "Just do what I say, Hufflepuff, and _maybe_ I won't order the execution of your friend, okay?"

Harry's blood boiled in anger at the threat, and he had to force his temper down to smile mockingly at the royal and mumble, "As you wish."

"Good," he remarked simply in reply. "Now, follow me."

Harry trailed the Prince into the dining hall and let his mouth drop open at the sheer size of the room. He could have fit all of Hufflepuff into that one hall! Harry had no idea why someone needed a space this large to eat in.

"Good morning, father," the Prince greeted, taking his seat near the head of table where the King was perched.

"Morning, Draco," came the reply.

Harry looked around, lost. Was he supposed to sit down also? Or just stand there looking like a lunatic until the Prince finished his breakfast? Given no instruction, Harry moved to the opposite wall where half a dozen other guards were and remained standing at attention.

"How did you sleep?" the King asked.

"Very well, father," his son answered shortly.

"No ... surprises today?"

Harry looked up and made brief eye contact with the Prince. "None at all. It was blissfully unsurprising," the young royal lied through his teeth, turning to his father and pasting on a very fake grin.

Harry felt a smile tug at his own mouth at the Prince's attempt to make everything appear fine. At least now he knew he had his own blackmail to threaten the Prince with whenever something went foul. The Prince needed him alive, and Harry needed to stay long enough to break Remus out.

"Very well. I trust your new guard had a say in the matter," the King assumed.

The Prince's mouth opened and closed as he tried to form an appropriate answer. "Y-yes, father. He ... made sure I was safe." Harry was sure the Prince was deliberately forcing himself _not_ to look at Harry. It was a good thing too, because Harry's was biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling.

"Good," the King nodded. "Because if I hear of one more fatal attempt on your life, you know exactly what I'm going to do."

The Prince nodded solemnly.

It was then Harry understood the extent to which the Prince wanted Harry to remain as his bodyguard. With an inward smirk, Harry decided he would abuse this until he drove the Prince up the walls.

If Harry was being forced to babysit the Prince, he wasn't about to make it easy.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Harry hates Draco, and Draco hates Harry. Nothing like good old mutual H/D hatred to get a love story started!_


	20. In the Job Description

Chapter 19

**In the J****ob Description**

The Prince sighed long-sufferingly and moaned, "I hate him; I really do. It would be just my luck that the one soldier who defeated everyone in my father's competition, happens to be the one man on earth I hate more than anyone else."

Lady Pansy looked sympathetically at the blond royal. "You barely even know him yet. It can't be that bad."

"It is. It's been less than twenty-fours and I can't stand him," the Prince answered adamantly.

Harry, who was only standing two feet away from the pair, scrunched his eyebrows in confused disbelief. "Er ... I _am_ right here," he tried to point out.

The Prince whirled his head around to face. "No one asked you to speak, you buffoon! Shut your mouth!"

"Well, with manners like that, I'm surprised _anyone_ can stand to be near you," Harry challenged hotly.

Lady Pansy's eyebrows went up.

The Prince stood from his chair and angrily faced Harry. "Why can't you just understand that _I_ am the Prince, _I_ am in charge, and _you_ are nothing but a slug in my presence? I am forced to be in your company, but I am not forced to like it. On the contrary, I _hate_ it. I hate it all, and I _loathe_ you. So why don't you just make it easier for the both of us and shut you damn mouth and leave me be?"

"I _can't_ leave you be, Your bloody Highness, or have you forgotten that _you_ need _me_," Harry reminded his sarcastically, fury flooding his veins.

The Prince turned back to Lady Pansy. "See what I have to deal with? See the insolence I must bear? I'm half tempted to relieve him of his protection duties and allow myself to be killed simply so that I don't have to be around his unbearable presence ever again."

"Fine by me," Harry muttered.

"Need I remind you that if I die, so do you," the Prince snapped at Harry. "And if you die, so does your precious friend."

Harry clenched his fists tightly and took a few deep breaths, wisely deciding to remain quiet. It wasn't easy.

"Draco," Lady Pansy said, turning to her friend. Harry could detect a hint of a smile on her face. "Perhaps you need to calm down a little."

"_Me?_" the Prince exploded. "It's him!" he accused, pointing a finger directly at Harry.

"Both of you, then," she corrected. "Try and play nice. This arrangement won't be over anytime soon and if you're already at each others' throats, how on earth are you going to survive?"

"That's exactly my point!" the Prince replied. "I won't be _able_ to survive."

"And you think this is easy for me?" Harry asked. "Trust me; I hate you as much as you hate me."

"Well, there's progress. At least _something's_ mutual," Lady Pansy pointed out and smiled at both of them sweetly.

The Prince huffed loudly and sank back down in his chair. "You're just going to let me get killed, aren't you?" he asked of Harry in an almost defeated voice. "It would be too easy for you."

For the first time since he had met the Prince, Harry felt a split-second worth of remorse for the royal. Despite being the world's most annoying pest, he was actually frightened for his life. Harry quickly shook his head to clear to thought. "I don't want to die either, so no; I _will_ actually try and keep you alive if it'll ultimately get me out of here," Harry answered. "Besides, how hard can it be? Spiders aren't that difficult to kill."

The Prince and Lady Pansy exchanged a look before she turned back to Harry. "Just you wait," she said knowingly.

Harry didn't like the sound of that.

"Well, as much as I'd love to sit and talk some more, my father has Council soon and I need to prepare for it," the Prince announced, standing back up again.

"Have fun," Lady Pansy said sympathetically, as if she had first-hand experience that Council really was as boring as it sounded.

The Prince snorted. "Doubt it, but it's a hopeful sentiment all the same. See you later," he bid her. "Come on," he said grudgingly to Harry who reluctantly followed him.

Together, the pair made their way back up to the Prince's chambers so that could be dressed in the proper attire to appear before the Royal Council.

Outside the door to the room, Harry stopped him. "What if there's another spider in there?"

The Prince, who was about to twist the door handle, stopped as well and turned to face Harry. "They never usually do the same thing twice in a day," he reasoned.

"But if it's not a spider, it could be something else. I should probably check before you go in."

The blond raised his eyebrows, as if wondering where Harry suddenly found his newfound loyalty from.

Harry shrugged. "Just doing what I'm supposed to do," he muttered self-consciously.

The Prince narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to search for an ulterior purpose in Harry's words. "Fine. Go inside and make sure it's safe," he said, stepping away from the door.

Harry nodded and reached for the door handle himself. Erring on the side of caution, he quickly unsheathed his sword and held it ready in his hand.

"I hardly think that's necessary," the Prince opined impatiently looking pointedly at Harry's raised weapon.

"Always better to be safe than sorry," Harry murmured, cautiously opening the door and following his sword point into the room.

Casting his eyes left and right swiftly, Harry saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked in the direction of the bed and found it to be free of large and hairy arachnids. After one last long look around the corners of the room, Harry lowered his weapon.

"It's safe," he called out to the Prince.

The royal marched into the room and shut the door behind him and fixing Harry with a maddened look. "See? What did I tell you? Nothing to be—"

Harry's eyes went wide. "Draco, duck!"

"Wha—!" The Prince dropped down.

Harry leapt forward and thrust his sword forward in the nick of time to stop the hidden man's weapon lobbing off the Prince's head. He cried out as his arms clenched painfully at the effort.

The Prince looked up above and saw the two silver blades crossed in a temporary stalemate and shrieked.

"Run!" Harry ordered, freeing his weapon and swinging hard at his enemy.

The Prince scurried away while the masked man was busy trying to defend himself against Harry. Harry didn't allow either of them time to get used to the moment, before advancing steadily with his sword on the attack, trapping his foe against the closed door.

His opponent was good, but not brilliant. Before long, he couldn't keep up with the force and speed of Harry's ominous blade. His face betrayed him and Harry knew he was running out of energy. This fight would be over almost before it began.

Harry spun around and swung his sword in a perfect arc to gather enough force to knock the enemy's sword of out of his hand. It twirled across the room and landed near the Prince's dresser. Harry took a step forward; sword poised. The intruder felt the hard pane of the wooden door at his back and the tip of Harry's sword at his front. Trapped.

Harry stared at the man's dark features. "What are you doing here?" he asked harshly.

In a thick accent, the man spat, "Serving my King. Your stupid Prince should be dead!"

"How did you get in here?" Harry demanded.

The man grinned maliciously.

Behind him, Harry heard the Prince say, "Kill him."

Harry didn't want to. He had always only killed in the most extreme circumstances. This wasn't one of them. The intruder was weaponless and alone—what threat could he pose?

"No," was all Harry said, stepping away, but keeping his sword raised in an attack position.

"_What?_" the Prince demanded. "Kill him!"

"No," Harry repeated. "He's defeated. Take him prisoner if you want, but I'm not going to kill him."

"What is _wrong_ with you, you idiot? My life was just threatened!"

Harry rotated his head to stare at the Prince. "And I just saved it—"

"Behind you!" the Prince cried out.

Harry spun back.

His prisoner had just retrieved a smaller dagger, ready to implant it into Harry's chest. Without wasting another second, Harry thrust his sword forward with force. The tip embedded directly into his enemy's gut.

"Agh!" the man hissed, dropping his dagger, frozen and impaled on Harry's unwavering weapon.

"I _was_ going to spare you," Harry said lowly, staring into the face of the man who tried to kill him. "But you had to take it one step too far." He kept his hand grasped onto the hilt tightly, watching as the man's life ebbed away.

"Your Prince will die ..." the dying man gasped out, "... he will _die_ ..."

"Not on my watch," Harry growled, yanking his sword out abruptly.

The intruder crumpled to the ground without anything holding him up. Harry stared at him until he breathed his last.

"Happy?" he asked dryly, turning back to the Prince.

"Very," he answered sarcastically, giving him an impatient look. "Having strange men in room is always _so_ exciting."

Harry's eyebrows shot up at the Prince's unintended entendre. "Is that so?" he asked with a small smirk.

Realising what he had implied, the Prince's cheeks bloomed and his eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to retort but couldn't find anything to say. Swiftly, he snapped his jaw shut in embarrassment.

"Huh ... I've finally managed to shut you up," Harry observed lightly. "Nice change."

"Oh shut up, you idiot," the Prince snapped.

Harry sighed. "Well, it was fun while it lasted," he muttered.

The Prince glared at him. "Get out of my room; I need to change." He paused and looked at the dead corpse near his doorway. "And get rid of that," he said disgustedly.

Harry cringed at the chore but bent down and hooked his arms under the dead man's armpits and dragged the body out.

At the far end of the corridor that led to the Prince's room stood two guards on duty.

"Oi!" Harry called to them. They turned to him. "Get rid of this, will you?" he said, gesturing to the dead body collapsed in his arms.

As they approached Harry, their eyes bogged in their heads. "Is that ...?" one of them asked, pointing to the corpse.

"A dead man?" Harry finished. "Yes it is, and I want you two to get rid of it."

The second man sneered at Harry with his tiny little black eyes. "Who are you to tell us what to do?"

Harry straightened his back and mustered up his authority, something he was no stranger doing. "I am the Prince's bodyguard, and as far as I'm concerned, you do what I say. If you've got any qualms, take it to the King."

The first man's eyes widened in fear. "We'll take it, sire," he said immediately.

Grudgingly the second man agreed and together they left, dragging the corpse with them.

It took Harry a moment to marvel at how easily the role had come to him. He hadn't second-guessed himself and the two guards had obeyed him. Smiling inwardly, Harry thought he could get used to this.

A substantial amount of time later, the Prince finally emerged from his chambers, now dressed for his meeting at the Royal Council. Harry did a double take and stared at him.

"What?" the Prince asked.

"Nothing. You just look so ..."

"Charming?" the Prince filled in.

"Royal," Harry corrected. A rich dark green doublet hugged his torso that had the Slytherin crest detailed on the front, while a robe of the same colour was draped on his shoulders. Atop his blond head was a gold crown.

The Prince glared at Harry. "That's what I am, you imbecile."

_Water off a duck's back,_ Harry silently told himself, already getting used to the name-calling. They held no real cruelty. "Trust me, I know. You keep reminding me," he groaned exasperatedly.

"You'd do well to get it into your thick head," the Prince bit back and began sauntering down the hallway that led to the rest of the Castle, simply assuming Harry would follow.

Rolling his eyes, Harry jogged to catch up.

A minute of silence later, Harry spoke up. "You're welcome."

"What?"

"I saved your life," Harry reminded him. "I'm just imagining you saying thank you to me."

The Prince scoffed. "Keep imagining."

"But you can't deny it."

"Deny what?" the Prince echoed with a smirk.

"That I saved your life!"

"That you what?"

Harry sent a maddened glare in his direction. "Oh come off it. I just saved your stupid blond head from being severed off your body. Remember?"

"I can't seem to."

"What, do you suffer from short-term memory loss as well?"

"I don't suffer from anything," the Prince replied, "Except for a strong case of Annoying-Bodyguard-itis."

Harry shook his head in irritation, trying not to let the Prince's retorts get to him. "You know, one day you'll thank me."

"And one day you'll stop dreaming. Now, shut up, we're there."

Harry barely resisted the urge to hit him and followed the Prince into a private indoor amphitheatre. To no one's surprise, right in the top centre sat the King. The seat to his right was vacant and Harry assumed it was reserved for his son. Around the circular room were about two dozen men who all looked important for one reason or another. Harry spotted Nott, the Battle Master, in amongst the nobles. He also saw that guards were posted at regular intervals throughout the room as he and the Prince meandered their way to the centre podium.

Everyone sans the King stood in a show of respect and did not sit down again until the Prince had taken his own throne. Harry thought it was a bit excessive but remained silent. He stood against the wall behind the Prince's chair. From his position, he had an uninterrupted view of the entire hall and all its entrances.

After a moment, the Council was in session and everything from economics to war was discussed. Harry immediately began to understand why Lady Pansy had sarcastically wished the Prince fun.

It was anything but.

aH

Within ten minutes, a lull had settled over the room and Harry was fighting to keep himself from yawning. To his amusement, he saw that the Prince was in a similar state as he kept fidgeting in his throne.

Harry's ear perked up briefly when the King mentioned that his son's new protection scheme was going well and that his new bodyguard is proving to be "adequate". Harry wasn't sure how he felt about being labelled adequate. Surely, a better adjective would suffice.

The King's report turned to the war in Durmstrang and Harry found this interesting as well.

"Durmstrang is proving to be more resilient than we thought," the King stated with a sour voice. "Since our last Council a fortnight ago, little else land has been won and our troops are beginning to lack in both number and effort. To expand the Empire we need the manpower. And to get the manpower, we need to train our troops harder. I won't accept anything less than that."

"My lord," a voice from the audience spoke up, "If we wish to expand the Empire, why not start something a little closer to Slytherin? The Kingdom of Ravenclaw perhaps?"

Harry stood straighter at that and his fingers automatically clenched.

The King's answer was low and deadly. "I don't want _Ravenclaw_," he hissed perilously. "I want Durmstrang. And if you don't agree with me, why on earth are you even in this room, Avery?" The King paused and glared at Avery. After along minute, he muttered ominously, "I have other plans for Ravenclaw. And Hufflepuff."

Harry froze and could only stare at the royal. _Hufflepuff?_

"When the time comes, Avery, we will vanquish those measly kingdoms also, fear not," the King continued in a hiss.

_Over my dead body, _Harry inwardly growled.

"But much needs to be done before we arrive at that point," the King added as a mysterious afterthought.

Jaw clenched in anger, Harry was tempted to run his sword through the King right then. But the King had said he had plans for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and Harry was desperate to find out what they were. He had the impression that no one else in the room knew either, not even the Prince. Everyone was looking at the King in confusion. Obviously, the King had secret plans he wasn't willing to deal out to his Council.

After that, no one asked any more questions and the Council session turned to matters of trade and imports that Harry had absolutely no interest in.

But instead of returning to his state of dull stupor, Harry's attention was caught by something else.

On the far side of the room, in the shadows, he saw movement.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

The shape of man shifted in between the thick stone columns that circumvented the room and settled behind one of them, hiding and waiting.

No one in the room was any the wiser. Not even the guards closest to where the unnamed man was heard. Harry was divided on whether or not he should do something. On the one hand, it could just be nothing; an innocent man listening in on the council.

On the other hand, he could be a Durmstrang spy wanting to kill the Prince.

Harry kept his eyes trained on the pillar he saw the man disappear behind but decided to wait and see if something else happened before he acted in what could be potentially very foolish.

After a minute, the man in the shadows moved again and left the cover of the pillar. Shrouded in all black, Harry could barely make him out, but he did see that in his hand there was now a long, thin stick.

An arrow perhaps?

Harry decided this was evidence enough. The man was dangerous.

Quietly, Harry stepped back into the shadows behind his own pillar and drew his sword, now hidden from everyone. Swiftly, he ran lightly around the theatre, passing behind the guards standing duty who had yet to notice anything out of the ordinary.

He neared the man in the shadows. When he came in sight, Harry saw a bow and arrow in his grip.

The weapon was aimed at the Prince. The string of the bow was being pulled back.

Ready to fire.

Harry sprinted.

The man heard and spun in Harry's direction. Harry immediately dropped to the ground and rolled forward, hearing the _whish!_ of the arrow sail over his head harmlessly.

Upright once more, Harry leapt forward and in a single heartbeat, stabbed his sword into the man's shoulder.

"AH!" the man cried out, dropping his bow and crumpling forward at the pain of the blade.

"_What was that?_" Harry heard the King demand, mid-speech.

The heads of all the nobles turned in their direction.

Harry kept his sword impaled deep in the muscle of man's right shoulder, yanking harshly so that the man felt every bit of it.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. Granted, he already knew the answer.

"A ... a servant of Durmstrang ..." the man gushed out, wincing in agony.

"Are you alone?"

" ... Maybe ..."

A few of the nobles closest to the scene stepped into the corridor to watch, eyes wide.

"Tell me!" Harry growled.

"Go to hell," the man spat.

Harry rotated the blade around until it dug into the tendons and sinews of his collarbone, severing muscle and nerve and rendering his right arm completely useless.

"Akh!" The man dropped to his knees.

"Are ... you ... alone?" Harry asked again.

"Yes ..."

The King and Prince joined the party. "Another spy?" the King asked, glaring evilly down at the kneeling man. "Come to kill my son, have you?"

"Your son deserves to die," the man spat.

Wordlessly, the King reached to the nearest guard and drew his sword out. He stepped up to the Durmstrang spy and without uttering word or sound, swiftly sliced through his neck in one clean swoop.

The small crowd gasped in horror as the severed head fell to the ground. Harry retracted his sword, and the rest of the body collapsed as well. He felt his stomach flip up in disgust.

The King threw his bloodied sword to the ground and turned to Harry. "Well done," he intoned impassively. "Now, where were we?"

And with that, the King returned back to his throne and the rest of the Council took up their own chairs. Harry could hardly believe they were treating it so casually. The King had just killed a man in cold blood! Surely something more than careless acknowledgment was required!

Harry remained staring at the decapitated corpse.

"How did you see him?" asked a voice from behind after a moment.

Harry turned to see the Prince had also remained, looking at the mangled body with wide eyes.

"He was in the shadows. I saw him move, holding an arrow," Harry answered, grabbing a handkerchief to clean the blood off his sword.

"Yeah, that's a common one," the Prince mused almost to himself.

"Sorry?"

"Bow and arrow. Most of them choose a bow and arrow to kill me, rather than a sword," he explained morosely.

Harry didn't really know how to respond to that. "I'm kind of surprised you're still alive," he said eventually.

The Prince snorted but said nothing.

Harry turned to a handful of the guards on duty and ordered them to take the body out and deposit it. With the Prince present, they could hardly argue and they reluctantly carried out the command.

Turning back to the Prince, Harry tilted one side of his mouth up and asked, "Do I get a 'thank you' now?"

The Prince raised an eyebrow. "Don't push it."

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Harry argues with Draco, protects Draco, then argues with Draco a little more, before stumbling upon a secret that leaves his mind rattled. All in a day's work for the Prince's bodyguard._


	21. Secrets in the Dark

_A/N: I wanted to write a cool Author's Note, but I don't really have anything to say. So I'll just stick with hi! Hope you're all enjoying it so far. If you're up for it, drop a review and let me know what you think _=)

-mp-

Chapter 20

**Secrets in the Dark**

It was more than a week before Remus spoke to the man on the other side of the wall.

Nine days, to be exact.

It took that long for the reality to hit him; for him to acknowledge that the only man he had ever loved and the only man who had ever betrayed him so deeply was less than three metres away from.

Sirius Black.

Too many memories surfaces by the mere thought of that name, and Remus had spent nine days remembering each one.

He remembered their first meeting at Rosmerta's Tavern; the first joke they shared; the first time they stayed up late telling each other stupid stories; the first time Remus noticed Sirius' dark eyes and saw something in them he had never seen in anyone else.

The first time Sirius gazed at him with all the promise in the world.

It was almost an entirely different life. Remus longed for it to return; longed for the Sirius Black of his youth and not the killer beside him today.

He had also remembered the night he had finally told Sirius the truth about himself; about the monster he became when the fool moon hung in the sky.

After seeing it with his own eyes, Sirius had looked at him and uttered, _"You're still Remus. My Remus. Doesn't change a thing."_

He had given his whole heart to Sirius.

But Sirius had betrayed him. He betrayed them all. And ripped his heart into shreds. Every time Remus laid eyes on Harry now, it was impossible not to remember how close Sirius had come to killing him as well.

Harry had been a miracle. Sirius had been a murderer.

It left him asking so many questions. Was Sirius ever sincere? Did Sirius ever love him in the first place? Did Remus only ever know a lie? Did James and Lily ever know the truth?

Remus had tried to talk himself out of speaking to Sirius. Opening the wounds of the past would only cause more pain. But two decades on, Remus suddenly was desperate to find answers he deserved. For his sake, for James' and for Harry's too.

Remus approached the small hole in the wall the separated he and Sirius and peeked through. He was huddled in the far corner, possibly asleep, but Remus couldn't tell from this angle. Mangled hair atop his sullied head flowed down to his shoulders and met the tattered and torn prison garment that looked as if it hadn't left his body in the twenty years since he had been here.

Suddenly, Remus didn't know what to say. He stared at Sirius and words fled from him. What did you say to the man who once promised to never leave you, then murdered your best friend and tore your heart apart?

In the end, he didn't have to say a thing.

Sirius spoke first.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a bloody museum artefact," he growled.

Remus jumped back, startled with wide eyes. How could Sirius know he had an audience? He wasn't even facing the hole! Perhaps he was speaking to himself?

Remus remained deathly quiet, his heart racing rapidly, and waited to see if Sirius would speak again.

"Yes, I know you're there," Sirius spoke in a low voice, "And I know you've been staring at me since you arrived. Quit it."

Remus' heart jumped to his throat. Sirius knew he was there! Remus suddenly began to wonder if Sirius knew it was _him_, or if he thought it was just another anonymous prisoner.

Kneeling back down to stare through the hole, Remus hesitantly said, "I'm not staring." It was a lie, yes, but it was also the only way Remus could envisage the conversation continuing.

"Yes, you are," Sirius corrected.

He shifted in his corner slightly so that Remus could now see a profile view of his face. Remus could make out the shape of Sirius' nose and lips and bizarrely, this cast his mind back twenty years to when they were younger. He still looked the same. He was still the same Sirius.

_No, he's not_, Remus' mind told him harshly. _He's a criminal._

"Don't think I haven't noticed the hole you keep looking through," Sirius muttered. "Come to see the face of a murderer?" he scoffed. Then he quietly muttered, "Merlin knows you're one too."

"I'm not a murderer," Remus said defiantly, his feelings of anger and spite settling inside of him once more. At least he now knew Sirius hadn't realised the identity of his neighbour.

"But you've done something terrible, haven't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be in here."

"I haven't done anything wrong," Remus replied.

Sirius laughed. But the sound had no joy in it. He sounded hollow and hopeless and Remus had a gloomy emptiness in the pit of his stomach. "That's what they all say. Till they realise they're just delusional. 'Good' and 'evil' are all relative. Truth is, you've pissed someone off and now you're suffering for it. You'll get used to the idea soon enough. If not this year, then the fifty others that'll follow."

Irritation simmered inside Remus but he forced it down to ask, "How long have you been here?" He knew the answer, of course, but if he wanted to get some answers, he needed to get Sirius talking.

"Too long," came the tired answer. Sirius dropped his head back to the wall behind him, showing the think column of his pale neck.

"Ten years?"

"Twenty."

"What for?" Remus posed.

He saw Sirius wince. "Murder."

A flare of anger rushed through Remus. "Who?"

Sirius turned his head to look in Remus' direction and instinctively Remus stepped back away from the hole. Sirius probably wouldn't have been able to see him anyway, but Remus didn't want to take chances. Remaining anonymous was essential.

"Why so many questions?"

"Passing the time," Remus replied simply. "Got something better to do?"

Sirius sighed and rested his head back against the brick wall. "You wouldn't know who they were," he answered finally.

"But you did?" Remus prompted, inching closer to the hole.

There was a long pause. "Yeah ..."

Remus' heart rate doubled in anticipation and anger. "Do you regret doing it?" he asked in a near-silent voice.

He saw Sirius swallow. "Yes," he answered. Then he turned to face the hole once more. This time, Remus stayed where he was, staring directly into the eyes of the murderer. He was sure Sirius wouldn't be able to see him properly. "But like you ... I haven't done anything wrong."

Remus blinked. "You just said you murdered them."

"No, I told you _why_ I was incriminated. There's a difference," Sirius replied.

"So you plead innocent?" Remus asked to clarify, unable to believe Sirius' unabashed nerve. How can he take James' and Lily's deaths so casually? He murdered them in cold blood! Remus shook with anger.

"Not that anyone would listen, but yes," came his reply.

"You're right," Remus said with a clenched jaw, glaring at Sirius' dark black eyes with fury, "No one would listen. Because you're a liar."

Sirius's eyebrows merged in confusion, obviously wondering where Remus' sudden hatred was coming from. "You know, for a stranger, you're taking an awful lot of interest to my supposed crimes," he remarked curiously.

"For someone who's killed others in cold blood, you don't even seem to care," Remus indicted hotly.

Sirius' face contorted in anger as he stared at the hole where Remus' face was. "Who are you to accuse me?"

"I'm just trying to make you realise the gravity of your sins," Remus hissed.

"We don't even know each other!" Sirius snapped. "You have no right to make assumptions about my past."

"I'm not making assumptions. I'm stating the truth."

"If you're so obsessed with the truth why don't you try and sort out your facts? Merlin, I don't know who you are! It's not like I've done something to piss you off personally."

Remus recoiled away as if he'd been slapped. Sirius had hit too close to home. Deciding to dull down his attacks—despite his continuing anger—Remus knelt down once more. "Even if you don't know me, it's good to face your past."

"I do face my past. Every day I'm here. And I tell myself every day that if I could change the past, I would. So I would appreciate it if you stopped harassing me as well. I get enough of it from myself," Sirius said in a low voice, dropping his head back to the wall behind him.

Remus could spot the end of an unwanted conversation when he saw one and so did not reply. Instead, he backed away from the hole and huddled in his own corner, simmering in his own resentment at Sirius' audacity to deny his sins.

Remus was still determined to get to the bottom of this, and he would. But considering they were prisoners and not going to leave anytime soon, Remus decided it could wait until later.

-mp-

Two weeks in the Prince's company did nothing to improve Harry's opinion of him. If anything, it exacerbated it. For instance, the Prince had decided that the role of 'bodyguard' also extended to the role of 'servant', and Harry often found himself carrying out menial duties that were normally reserved for his manservant. Harry had argued at first, but the Prince had threatened to tell his father that Harry hadn't been performing all his responsibilities correctly. The punishment for that, Harry knew, was death. And so Harry had to grudgingly agree.

That didn't stop them from coming to heads about absolutely everything. They fought over everything from their schedule to the time, and in the past fortnight, Harry had been called every name under the sun, and then some.

The name-calling Harry was getting used to, but the Prince' quicksilver tongue was still infuriating.

To Harry's chagrin, the past two weeks did nothing to shed any light on where Remus was being held; nor was Harry any closer to rescuing him. He had tried to subtly remind the Prince of his imprisoned friend, but he was always either pointedly ignored or cruelly mocked.

The only thing that allowed Harry to vent out his steam was training. Each morning, he poured his heart and soul into his sword and didn't stop until every pore on his body was leaking sweat.

"Give it a break, Harry," Blaise Zabini, his fellow swordsman and new acquaintance, remarked. "You're making us all look bad."

Harry stopped swinging his sword about and wiped his forehead. "You'll catch up," he panted, smirking exhaustedly at the Slytherin.

They had met three days ago during Harry's early morning training session—the only time Harry ever was blessedly separated from the Prince—and although they didn't particularly get along, they had develop a certain mutual acknowledgement for each other. Harry suspected it was because Blaise had learnt that, as the Prince's bodyguard, Harry also got to spend a lot of time with the Lady Pansy, Blaise's betrothed.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Nope," Harry replied, chugging down a glass of water in one continuous swallow. "Too much energy inside me. I've got to get rid of it somewhere."

"Let me guess. Draco?" Blaise said.

"Huh?"

"It's because of him, isn't it?"

"Er ... yeah," Harry admitted, not comfortable with telling anyone lest it be reported against him. Treason wasn't taken very lightly in the Empire.

To his surprise, Blaise laughed. "Yeah, he's a bit of a handful."

"You've been his bodyguard before?" Harry guessed.

"Merlin, no! I wouldn't survive," Blaise replied, startling Harry. "I mean, he's a nice guy and I actually don't think he's that bad. But I wouldn't be able to stand up him up close, day in, day out."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "You realise you just spoke against royalty?"

"Why? Are you gonna tell on me?" Blaise asked.

"No."

Blaise shrugged. "You're safe. I know you don't like him much either."

"That's an understatement," Harry remarked, feeling more comfortable with the conversation. "And you're right. He's a _big_ handful. And it doesn't help that he hates me either."

"Draco doesn't like many people," Blaise placated. "It's just the way he's wired. He doesn't change."

"Great ... something to look forward to, then," Harry murmured sarcastically.

"At least he hasn't gotten you fired or executed yet. That's a plus," Blaise mentioned.

In his mind, Harry knew it was because the Prince had his own motives. He needed Harry alive if he wanted some semblance of freedom. "So basically my options are dead; or alive and in his company. Not much choice there," Harry grumbled, putting his sword in his sheath and picking up a bow and arrow instead. Blaise did the same and together they moved to the archery range.

"At least you have the company of others too," Blaise commented distractedly, taking up his stance and fitting an arrow into his bow.

Harry let the left side of his mouth twitch upward as he pulled back his bowstring. "Others?" he echoed. "You mean the Lady Pansy," he corrected, letting his arrow fly loose.

The missile hit the circumference of the centre circle. Almost a bullseye.

Blaise let his loose as well. It hit the target, but not as close to the centre as Harry's effort. He turned to Harry. "Maybe," he answered, smiling wryly as well. "How often would you say you see her?"

"Every other day," Harry replied. "She and the Prince are close friends and so I'm constantly made to endure his endless rants on how annoying and infuriating I am." He notched his next arrow.

Blaise's face dropped. "Really? She doesn't talk about me?"

Harry relaxed his bow. "_She_ does. He doesn't. All the Prince cares about is me." After a moment, Harry realised what he had just said and went red. Blaise smirked. "That's not ... I didn't mean it that way. Shut up."

"Sure," Blaise chuckled.

"Piss off," Harry said good-naturedly. Letting loose another arrow and watching as it landed inside the centre ring.

"So what does she say about me?" Blaise inquired.

"Well, yesterday she was prattling on and on about your voice. Apparently, it's _divine_. The day before it was your humour. The day before that it was your ... er, physique." Harry turned to Blaise and grinned. "Honestly, Blaise, she's mad for you."

"Really?"

"Really," Harry confirmed.

Blaise grinned satisfactorily. "You know, for years I thought Pansy was the Prince's intended. I was relieved when I found out that Draco's bride-to-be is actually Astoria Greengrass."

Harry paused and lowered his bow. "Who?"

-mp-

"You're engaged?" Harry asked when the Prince emerged from his chambers that morning, dressed for breakfast and the day's activities.

The Prince scowled for a moment before drawling, "Is that a problem?"

"No," Harry answered. "But you never told me."

"And I must tell you every little thing about my life, then. Is that it? Is this some new condition on our strained and hostile relationship?" the Prince inquired, looking bored of the conversation already.

"No," Harry said again, a little irritated at his companion's demeaning tone. "It's just that being engaged is a fairly big deal."

"Well, it's not. It's just business," he answered shortly.

Harry frowned, not understanding. "What's she like?" he asked.

The Prince looked at Harry in confusion. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I just do. She's your fiancée," Harry reasoned.

The Prince cringed. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" Harry echoed in confusion. "You're acting like she's a troll or something."

"Or something," the Prince agreed. "You'll find out when you see her."

"When will that be?"

"Tomorrow. I'm to spend the afternoon with her," the Prince said with a clenched jaw. He looked as if he had just sucked dry a lemon. "As my bodyguard, you are expected to be there."

Harry winced. "No, I couldn't intrude, really," he tried to say.

The Prince whirled to face him. "You _will_ be there," he stated firmly, leaving Harry to think that the matter was already settled.

_Oh joy_, he mused miserably. Harry couldn't envisage anything less exciting than spending his day babysitting the Prince and his bride.

After breakfast with the rest of the royal family—in which the Prince was required to give his parents assurance that Harry has been doing a marvellous job of protecting his life, to which Harry was then forced to choke down his laughter—the Prince decided he wanted to go horse riding for the next little while.

"No," Harry objected flatly.

"I beg your pardon?" the Prince said with a warning in his voice.

"You're _not_ riding your horse."

"And when did I start listening to you? Oh, that's right. I haven't." The Prince marched stubbornly to the stables.

"It's for your own good. You could get killed," Harry reasoned logically. "You told me you almost got shot last time you went riding."

"If I want to go out riding, I _will_ go out riding."

"So you're just going to risk your life after all those times I've saved it in the past two weeks?" Harry asked heatedly, angry that all his efforts were about to go for waste.

The Prince paused in his step, turned to Harry and simply said, "Yes."

"But I can't protect you properly when you're riding your horse all over the place!" Harry tried.

"That's not my problem."

Huffing loudly and angrily, Harry snapped, "Fine, you stuck-up, blond prat! Go riding! Go risk your life!"

"You'll just have to prove how good you are at your job," the Prince stated. Then he smiled mockingly at Harry. "Or is it just too much for you?"

Harry yanked open the stable door and following the Prince inside the large barn, growling, "You bloody well wish, Your _Highness_. I'll prove it to you, even if you don't deserve it."

The Prince grinned pleasantly, before going off to find his horse. Harry, meanwhile, strode over to a Slytherin guard standing near one of the entrances. "Listen, go round up about a dozen soldiers and report back here as soon as possible. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the guard muttered, rushing out of the dark wooden stable.

It still struck Harry as odd at how quickly the guards around the Castle had come to not only recognise who he was, but respond immediately to his orders. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think about that.

Harry marched outside and winced against the harsh sun as he observed the large field where the Prince would do his riding, and the trees on the other side that marked the border of the Dark Forest. He absentmindedly realised why they called the forest Dark. A gray and gloomy cloud hovered over it like a stain on a crisp white sheet.

It would be only too easy for Durmstrang to plant spies in such a large space. Harry frowned and began to formulate the best ways to keep the Prince safe during his ride.

Within minutes, the guard reported back with a small army of Slytherin soldiers. Harry thanked him and then spent the next ten minutes giving the men instructions.

"Find a horse, get on it and then I want you to scour the perimeter. You'll be armed with arrows. If you see _anything_ moving, especially in those trees, shoot it. I'm putting you three—" Harry pointed to a trio of his leftmost soldiers "—inside the first line of trees. Keep swords drawn and eyes open. I want there to be _no_ chance of anyone or anything coming within firing range of the Prince. Is that clear?"

Muted nods were shared among the soldiers.

"Good," Harry said. "Now, get yourself on a horse and circle the place."

As they hurried to obey, Harry went and found a horse as well. By the time he had his steed saddled and retrieved a bow and arrow, the Prince had just straddled his own.

"Ready?" the blond asked, clicking his heels and leading his horse out of the stables at a steady trot.

"Merlin help me," Harry muttered, desperately hoping that nothing terrible would happen. If the Prince was killed, Harry would be too.

For his part, the Prince didn't seem to care that his life was in incredible danger. He was simply enjoying his midday ride under a warm spring sun. Harry, on the other hand, rode alongside the blond with an arrow cocked in his bow, ready to fire upon anyone. He kept glancing around at the soldiers he had placed around the perimeter of the field, but so far, there was no activity.

"Really, you paranoid freak, there was no need for _them_," the Prince called out, pointing with his chin at the soldiers on stand-by. "Everything's fine."

"It's better to—"

"—be safe than sorry," the Prince drawled, to Harry's surprise. "Yeah, yeah, I know. If I have to hear you say that one more time, Merlin knows I'll rip my own hair out."

Harry glared at him sideways, but finding it difficult to maintain the stare when their horses were at a fast canter. "You _do_ realise that every time I say that, it actually happens. The last time you called my methods unreasonable was seconds before _I_ got strangled by a rope that was meant for you."

"Yes, and who got you out?" the Prince asked.

"You did. But that's not the point! The point is, if I had listened to you and left you alone, you would have been choking on your tongue!" Harry argued irately.

"Oh just shut up, and leave me be! This ride was supposed to relax me and now you've gone and pissed all over it!" the Prince yelled furiously.

"I'm trying to protect—" Harry cut his sentence in half and suddenly felt a suspicious prickling on the back of his neck.

He looked around them at the edges of the field.

He counted eleven soldiers.

Where was the twelfth?

Harry didn't know the answer and he didn't want to wait around long enough to find out.

"Get back to the stables," he told the Prince in what he hoped was a calm voice.

"I'm not talking to you," the Prince declared petulantly.

Harry expelled a sharp breath in anger. "Would you bloody well shut up and listen to me? I think you're in danger and I _need_ you to get off this field right now." Harry kept his eyes trained on the spot where there was a missing soldier.

Someone was out there. Someone after the Prince's blood.

"Get lost, you imbecile," the Prince hissed.

"Fine!" Harry exploded. "Stay here and die!"

Harry was just about set on abandoning the whole mission to save the Prince's life when his conscience got the better of him. He needed the Prince alive, even if the blond was the most insufferable idiot to ever live. Clenching his jaw to keep his temper reigned in, Harry replaced his arrow into its quiver and slung his bow over his shoulder.

"HYAH!" he yelled, squeezing his legs around his horse and urging the animal forward.

His horse dashed.

The Prince's cry of alarm drowned out behind Harry as he left him to head for the area near the Forest where the soldier was missing. The rest of the soldiers surrounding the perimeter watched from afar as Harry raced closer to the Dark Forest.

A metre away from the trees, Harry jumped off his horse, his sword already up and drawn, held out before him to ward off immediate dangers. Swallowing to calm his rapid pulse, Harry stepped beyond the border and entered the Forest. Dimly, he heard someone cry out in warning, but Harry ignored the call.

A few steps later, he saw the twelfth soldier slumped dead against a tree, a long wooden spear piercing his chest grotesquely, like a demented limb. His lifeless eyes were wide open and Harry had no doubt the last face he saw was of a Durmstrang spy.

"Where are you, you Durmstrang bastard?" Harry murmured to no one in particular, venturing further into the Forest.

It felt as if every step was taking him further from the light of the day and closer to the gloom of the eternal dark cloud that gave the Forest its name. A chill danced up his spine and Harry shuddered, as if evil itself was present here. There was something about this Forest that made the hair on Harry's skin stand to attention. He began to realise why no man ever dared to cross into the Forest's depths.

"Come on," he said quietly, keeping his sword ready for any sudden attack. The spy was here, he knew it. He could feel a stranger's presence. Casting a look behind him, Harry saw he had already gone far enough to have lost a clear vision of the field. The light of day had almost disappeared.

He pushed on. The spy needed to be found.

Then, he heard a terrifying sound. A whisper.

"... _Harry_ ..."

Harry froze, eyes wide, sword ready. His heart rate shot up. Throwing his gaze around desperately, he saw no one.

"Who's there?" he asked in what he hoped was a strong voice.

Only the sound of a breeze through the trees was his reply. Harry's grip on his sword tightened.

Then—the whisper again.

" ... _Harry_ _Potter_ ..."

His blood ran cold. Someone was here. And they knew his name.

"Who are you?"

There was silence for a long minute.

" ... _Harry_ ... _the Sword ..."_

Harry swallowed in fear, his eyes as wide as plates. He tried to determine where the ghostly whisper was coming from, but it seemed to originate from all around him. Almost, from _within_ him.

"What ... what are you talking about? Who are you?" he asked again, turning on the spot. All thought of catching the Durmstrang spy left him.

"_The Sword, Harry ..._"

Harry realised then the whispering voice was not a foe. "I don't—"

"_It is your destiny ..._"

"What?"

"... _to defeat the One Who Must Not Be Named_ ..."

Harry's eyebrows cross in wild confusion. What was going on? "Who?" he asked, feeling a little stupid talking to a bodiless voice.

"... _The fate of the world is in your hands ..._"

"What are you ... I don't understand!" Harry called out, feeling frustration creep through him. He didn't even know who he was talking to! Let alone why he suddenly had the weight of the world on him!

"... _When you are ready, you will return ..."_

"Ready for what?"

Harry waited for an answer, but none came. He stood still for a moment, his mind whirring with thoughts of confusion, trying to make some sense of things.

He wasn't given much time before he heard a branch snap behind him. He whirled and caught a glimpse a black-clothed figure running towards the light of the field, back to the Prince. He remembered why he was in the Forest in the first place.

Harry sprinted after him, and closed in on his prey.

Within seconds, Harry tumbled out of the tree-line and back into the field, pouncing on the escaping figure. The spy grunted as they fell on the ground together. Harry rolled forward and by the time he stood up, his weapon was ready for battle. His opponent did too and immediately, their duel began.

Harry's sword moved with speed and lethal precision. They danced around each other. In the back of his mind, he heard the Prince cry out to him and he saw his small army of soldiers watching, their arrows pointing at his two-man skirmish. But they wouldn't fire. It wasn't the chivalrous way to do things. This fight was Harry's. The soldiers would only intervene if Harry was losing.

But he wasn't. His right arm felt energised and his grip on the hilt felt steady.

After a moment, he saw the Durmstrang spy's eyes dart around to see a circle of enemies around him. His eyes expanded and his sword thrusts grew uncontrollably wild, as if he realised there was no way he would escape alive. Harry, wanting to end the duel, took a step forward. Unfortunately, the spy's wayward sword tip sliced across Harry's cheek, leaving a long cut from his jaw to his nose.

The pain stung. Harry winced.

The Durmstrang soldier's eyes kept leaving the duel and focusing on the almost dozen arrow tips facing in his direction. This was all the distraction Harry needed to knock the sword out of his hand and force his opponent to his knees. Harry held his blade to the spy's neck.

"Your King needs to stop trying to kill the Slytherin Prince," Harry said in a low voice, feeling the discomfort of his own blood dripping down his face. He didn't move to wipe it. "Doesn't he realise he keeps losing men?"

"Doesn't yours realise his son is losing time?" the spy asked. "If it's not me, someone else will do it."

Harry glared down at him. "No, it won't be you. Because you'll be dead."

Harry sliced his sword through the spy's neck, killing him in seconds. His body crumpled to the ground, dead.

Harry turned around and pointed to two of the mounted soldiers. "The body of your comrade is just near the border of the Forest. Go retrieve it," he said.

They obeyed. Harry turned to the Prince, who was looking on at the scene with wide eyes and a face that was paler than normal.

Wiping his bloodied cheek, Harry muttered, "You're welcome, You're _Highness_."

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Just when it seems things are improving between our two boys, Draco pushes Harry's patience too far. Then again, what good is a love story without angst?_


	22. Crossing the Line

_A/N: I've realized that the brief synopses I've written for this story isn't very appealing and isn't doing much to attract a greater readership. Should I change it? Thoughts?_

-mp-

Chapter 21

**Crossing the Line**

"You should get that checked out," the Prince murmured later that afternoon as they walked back to his chambers.

Holding what had once been a white handkerchief to his bloodied cheek, Harry said, "It's fine. Just a scratch."

"A scratch that almost gouged your eye out," the Prince corrected snappishly. "And soiled my handkerchief."

Harry cast a guilty look at the material against his face, now soaked red. "It'll be fine. Give it a few days and it'll just be another scar to add to my collection," he said dryly, thinking about the odd lightning-shaped mark on his forehead that had been there since before he could remember.

"It could get infected."

"No, it won't," Harry said, knowing he knew next to nothing about injuries and wounds. He was used to getting them, but never healing them.

The Prince huffed. "_Yes_, it will. Go to the medic; they'll fix you up."

"I don't want to," Harry muttered.

The Prince turned to stare at him. "What, scared?"

"No," Harry denied quickly, not ready to admit that getting his skin stitched up made him shudder. Needles had always scared the life out of him. "Besides, it doesn't even hurt anymore," he lied.

"Oh, really? So if I do this—" The Prince lightly touched his cheek.

"Ow!" Harry yelped, glaring.

The blond smirked. "I've had Healer training. You can't fool me."

"You're a Healer?" Harry asked, flummoxed.

"Not as such, but I can do almost everything the qualified Healers can do," the Prince answered in that stuck-up tone of his. "Now, go get it checked," he ordered again.

"_No_," he replied. "I'm not going, so stop telling me to."

"But it'll only get worse."

"Let it. I'm _fine_," Harry said, wincing in pain with every word he spoke.

The Prince noticed and sighed loudly. Grabbing Harry's arm, he pulled him towards his chambers. "Stubborn idiot," he muttered. "If that thing gets infected, you'll be as good as dead. And I can't have that. So you're going to get it cleaned if it's the last thing I do!"

"Wait," Harry said, digging his heels into the floor. "I should check your room out before you go in."

They repeated the same process as they had been doing for the past two weeks. The Prince waited outside until Harry made sure it was safe and called him in. Upon entering, the blond grabbed Harry's arm again. "Come with me," he said, yanking Harry into his adjoined bathroom and up to the sink.

He stood face-to-face with Harry and gently pulled away the blood-stained cloth, dropping it into the basin with a disgusted expression. The Prince returned his speculative gaze back to Harry's cheek and narrowed his eyes in observation.

Harry, for his part, felt remarkably uncomfortable. He tried not to move but the urge to pull away was clawing at him. Having someone so close to him, let alone the Prince, was highly disconcerting. "Er ... what ..." he murmured.

"Hold still," the Prince chided.

Harry flushed when he felt the breath of the Prince's words brush against his face. He tried to obey and ignored his speeding heartbeat.

The Prince grabbed a towel, wet it and held it against Harry's face. He dabbed at the wound.

Harry flinched. "What are you doing?" he asked, wondering why his mouth suddenly felt dry.

"Cleaning it. I think you got some dirt in there when you _stupidly_ wiped your face with your glove," the Prince drawled.

Harry felt like a child scolded. "But the blood tickled," he defended himself.

The Prince looked at him, unamused, before continuing to wipe the wound. Harry's sensitive cheek began throbbing with pain.

When the Prince pulled the wet towel away, he leant in close once more to examine the wound. This close, Harry could see each individual strand of hair on his fine, almost white eyelashes. His eyes didn't seem as gray as they usually did. There was a hint of blue in them. The colour wasn't altogether bad.

_What are you thinking?_ he admonished himself. He coughed loudly to clear his head.

"Stop _moving_," the Prince hissed.

"I'm trying!"

"Well, do better!" the Prince ordered irately, grabbing another clean towel and pressing it painfully hard against the wound.

"Ow!" Harry complained again, pushing against the Prince's hand with his head.

"I need to put pressure on it," the Prince explained, not looking guilty.

"You could have warned me."

"So sorry."

Harry got the impression he wasn't apologetic at all. He glared at the blond, though he was sure the effect was ruined with a large fluffy towel obstructing half his face.

After a moment of silence, neither of them moved and Harry was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. "Er ... how long do you have to do this for?"

"Five minutes," was the abrupt reply.

"Look, why don't you let me do it? I'm sure I can manage holding a towel to my face."

"Really? Because knowing you, you'd find a way to do it wrong," the Prince insulted.

Harry sighed, held onto the towel and pushed the blond's hand away. He took a much desired step back. "See? I'm doing it right."

For a long minute, neither of them said anything. Harry was left to his own thoughts on when he had received the wound on the first place. Or rather, what had happened immediately prior to the fight with the Durmstrang spy.

An unexplained chill flushed through him at the memory of the strange whispers in the Dark Forest. Harry couldn't make head nor tail of it. Was it a joke? Who had called his name? Who knew that his last name was Potter?

He looked at the Prince and wondered if, for once, he would actually be of some use.

"Er ..." he began, "You know the Forest?"

The Prince looked at him curiously. "Yes, why?"

"Is it ... I mean, have you ever been in there?"

"Of course not," the Prince answered immediately. "I was surprised you went in and returned with your life. I was half hoping you wouldn't." He shot Harry a sickly sweet grin.

"People die in there?" he asked dubiously.

"No one goes _in_ in the first place. It's cursed ground; has been for centuries."

Harry's eyebrows dipped down. "Isn't that a little superstitious?" he asked, inwardly wondering if it were true. How else would he have heard someone whisper his name?

The Prince shrugged. "It's an old wives tale that a monster lives there who eats anyone who wanders in his lair." Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm not saying I believe it. But whatever is in there, I'm happy to stay far away." He turned to Harry and looked curiously at him. "Why? Did you see anything?"

"No," Harry answered quickly, thinking it wasn't a lie. He didn't _see_ anything; he just _heard_ something. But this was best kept to himself. "Just wondering," he murmured.

"You can drop the towel now. The bleeding should have stopped."

Harry pulled the towel away and was about to feel the wound areas to see if the Prince was right. His hand was slapped away before it reached his cheek.

"Ouch!" Harry yelped.

"Don't touch it," the Prince warned menacingly. "You don't know how much dirt you've got on your filthy fingertips. Now, I've just got to put an adhesive on it."

"Must you?" Harry groaned, thinking his cheek had had enough attention.

The Prince scowled. "If you insist on getting stabbed by swords, then yes," he hissed.

"I didn't _insist_! Need I remind you that I was fighting to keep _you_ safe!" Harry replied hotly.

The blond pointedly ignored Harry's statement as he prepared his small bandage.

Harry smirked. "Do I get a 'thank you' yet?"

"No," the Prince snapped, smoothing the white strip of adhesive bandage against the thin cut on his face. "You get a 'shut up and stop moving or I'll tape your mouth shut instead'".

"Always so nice with you," Harry replied sarcastically, trying to fight the urge to flush warmly from the Prince's touch on his cheek.

"Nice? Perhaps I should be crueler next time."

"No, dear god, please no. Anymore from you and I'll throw myself out of your bedroom window," Harry begged.

"Oh, but you make it so tempting," the Prince replied, washing his hands and sending Harry a half-smirk.

Choosing to ignore his insult, Harry looked himself in the mirror and made a face. "How long am I supposed to have this on? I look like an idiot."

"And this is different from the usual ... how?"

"Oh shut up," Harry huffed, whirling to face the Prince and his infuriating smirk. "I've just about had it with you."

"I passed that point a long time ago. Now I'm just counting down the days until we win this war so I can get rid of you."

That stopped Harry short. "You plan to have me killed after that?" he asked.

"You have talked treason against my father and I, and insulted me to no end," the Prince reminded him sternly. "If it were anyone else, they'd be hanging dead from the gallows right now. The only thing you've got going for you is the fact that if you die, my father will assign yet more guards to me and I can't possibly live like that. You, my impossibly obtuse bodyguard, are just a means to an end."

Harry swallowed and for the first time since he had met the Prince, saw the power that he held. He may not deserve his authority, but he had it in spades. Harry's life was literally in his hands. In order to keep his dignity intact, he said, "But I _have_ done more to keep your life safe in the past two weeks than any of your other guards did, you can't deny it."

"So you're good with a sword," the Prince said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I assure you, it'll take more than that to convince me."

Harry wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or challenge. Knowing the Prince, he probably meant the former. But Harry would take it as the latter.

-mp-

Astoria Greengrass had a visage that could only really be appreciated from afar.

Very far.

Harry had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from laughing when he first laid eyes on her, realising that he hadn't been that far off when he had jokingly guessed she was a troll. He now clearly understood the Prince's reservations to meet with her, let alone marry her.

Harry had never felt so sorry for the Prince as the pair of them walked into the drawing room where the future bride was sitting.

"Hello, Dra-co," she crooned, drawing his name out deliberately. She sent the blond a wink and smile, showing off two rows of teeth that left nothing to be desired.

Harry saw him shudder and cough. "Hello," he replied shortly, approaching her and choosing a chair far enough away from her that it was still considered socially acceptable.

Harry stood behind him, silently quivering from laughter. The poor bastard.

"How are you?" she asked in that same bone-chilling voice, completely ignoring Harry, which was entirely suitable for him.

"Fine," was the short reply. Harry noticed the Prince wasn't even looking at her. He couldn't blame her. He was trying to avert his eyes to other places as well, especially because the dress she had chosen to wear was unacceptably revealing. More of her chest was exposed than hidden.

"I bought this dress for you," she explained with a sickly smile on her face.

_Well, that explains it_, Harry thought dryly,

The Prince paused at her words and Harry knew he was inwardly gagging. "You shouldn't have ... really."

Harry snorted out loud.

The Prince elbowed him in the gut.

The room elapsed into silence. Astoria spent the time sending the Prince coy and enticing looks. Harry had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from laughing. He didn't even know what the point of this meeting was. The Prince had told him—with a scowl on his face—it was for he and Astoria to draw closer together and get to know each other. But as far as Harry could tell, neither of those requirements were being fulfilled and the Prince wasn't about to make any effort to ensure they were.

Eventually, Astoria piped up again. "Mother asked me the other day what kind of colour scheme I wanted to have for the wedding."

The Prince froze. "What wedding?"

Astoria giggled. "Ours, silly."

"But ... that isn't for a couple of years yet," he protested.

Astoria replied with something but suddenly Harry wasn't paying attention. A memory surfaced that sent aching pangs of nostalgia through him. Ron's face hovered in the eyes of his mind.

_"I overheard mother asking Ginny whether she wants lavenders or tulips at the wedding,"_ Ron had told him weeks ago at the Council banquet.

_"Ron, your mother does know that I haven't proposed to her, yes?"_

_ "Oh sure. But no one cares about that sort of thing nowadays."_

The Prince seemed to be going through the same dilemma Harry himself had gone through months ago. It struck Harry as odd that he and the blond had something in common.

Harry was brought back to the present when he heard the Prince say his name.

"... Harry is _supposed_ to be here. He is my bodyguard," the blond snapped with thinly veiled impatience.

His name sounded bizarre from the Prince' mouth when not followed by a hissed insult.

"But we have no privacy," Astoria complained with a whine.

Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He was beginning to get used to people treating him as if he wasn't even there. But it would be nice to be appreciated once in a while.

"Harry _stays_," the royal said with a clenched jaw.

"Your life's not even in danger here! What could possibly happen? You won't be killed indoors," she tried to reason.

"On the contrary, my life is always at stake; even indoors. And Harry has yet to fail to keep me alive. If I say he stays, he _stays_."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. _Did he just say...? _He rewound the last few seconds to confirm that the blond had indeed just praised him. And a compliment from the Prince was about as likely as Slytherin declaring peace with Durmstrang. Improbable, yes, but apparently not impossible.

Astoria grumbled and slouched a little; the spark had abandoned her eye in her frustration towards him and the Prince's remark about his worth.

For some reason, Harry suddenly felt a little smug about that.

-mp-

Later that night, after their meeting with Astoria had mercifully ended, the Prince claimed that all he wanted to do was retire to his chambers and read. Harry, of course, accompanied him. While the blond settled on a long dark green couch in his rooms with a novel in hand, Harry kept sending him an amused knowing smirk.

The Prince tried to ignore it and paid deliberately acute attention to his book. Harry didn't relent.

After a while, the blond sighed and dropped his arms to his lap and glared at Harry. "Would you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"That! That annoying little smirk on your annoying stupid face. Stop it."

If anything, that only widened Harry's grin.

This incensed the Prince. "Stop it," he repeated. "I don't even know why you're looking at me like that."

"'_Harry has yet to fail to keep me alive'_?" Harry echoed, repeating the words the blond had spoken earlier. He saw the Prince's face morph into a sneer. "Why, you're Highness, I had no idea you felt that way."

"Shut up."

"Face it, you're somewhat appreciative of me," Harry said with a teasing smile, knowing he was playing with fire, tempting the Prince's wrath.

"I am _not_, you moron."

"But if you had to choose between me and Astoria, you would pick me," Harry taunted.

The Prince shot him a dry look. "If I had to choose between _anyone_ and Astoria, I still wouldn't pick her."

Granted, this was probably true. But still, it made Harry feel bizarrely giddy. In fact, it was probably the first time he had felt anything akin to happiness since waking up to this Slytherin nightmare. "Doesn't matter. The point is, I have managed to worm my way into your icy heart."

He received a menacing glare in response. "Why that would give you any satisfaction is completely beyond me. The fact remains, I still hate you."

Harry shrugged. "I can deal with that."

The Prince must have become quite upset hearing that his hatred of Harry no longer seemed to hold any weight, so he slammed down his book. "Why must you be so infuriating?"

"What have I done wrong now?" Harry asked, spreading his hands in a show of innocence.

The Prince expelled a huff of breath angrily. "I don't know why it's so hard for you to understand that I am Prince of Slytherin and you are _nothing_ but a soldier among thousands. Stop trying to wrangle thank you's out of me as if I actually appreciate you, and stop trying to pretend to be my friend. You are to give me your loyalty and that is that. Nothing else is required of you. So stop talking to me when you're not invited. I am _not_ your friend."

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a step back, suddenly feeling the tiny pieces of happiness from before crumble into inexistence, as if someone had gone and grinded them into dust. "I never said you were, you're _majesty_," he growled back, not wanting to admit he was a little hurt by the Prince's little rant. "But why don't you try putting yourself in my shoes, for a change? You have stolen me from my family, my home, my whole _life_ and shoved me into a place I despise with every shred of worth in me. You have stripped me of my dignity and made me kill so many others to save myself and someone I hold very dear to me. You have withheld information from me that I desire and used and abused my talents to no end. You make me do things every day that I don't want to. I have risked my life so many times for you and yet you still trample all over me like I'm nothing and then scream in my face, reminding me that I am just a slave. I am utterly alone and cold in this stupid castle and with no way of escape." Harry fixed him with a hard stare. "So forgive me if I am trying to make myself somewhat happy in this godforsaken place. You and your stupid pride don't deserve me to even be _around_ you, let alone protect you, but I do. And I do it daily. So don't you _dare_ get angry at me for trying to make something out of nothing. I'm just trying to live my life the way I know how. Would it kill you to even try to accommodate that?"

Harry stopped his speech abruptly, breathing hard. The Prince was looking at him in shocked silence, robbed of words, obviously trying to come to terms with everything Harry had said. Harry didn't even know why he said it all, but he knew he was sick and tired of the way he was being treated, especially because Draco needed him alive too.

After a while, Harry spoke again. "I need to leave."

The Prince didn't stop him when he left.

-mp-

Watching Harry leave sent an unfamiliar feeling shooting through Draco.

He suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. Unprotected.

It was the first time he had been alone in his waking hours since Harry had entered his life. As the door slammed shut behind Harry's retreating form, Draco flinched and looked around the room he was in. There was no one with him. It took him a moment to remember that being alone was exactly what his heart had craved for months now. But for a reason Draco was too proud to admit, he suddenly didn't want to be anymore.

Of course, he would never call Harry's name and ask him to return. His dignity forbade it. He would let Harry go for now and hope that until he chose to return, no Durmstrang spy would try to take his life.

_When_ he would return, however, was another matter entirely. In fact, if Draco had to place a wager on it, he would guess that Harry would probably never come back. Not voluntarily anyway. Draco knew that if Harry set his mind solely on escaping, he could probably do it. The man, Draco was loathe to admit it, was quick, skilled and intelligent, and Draco had pushed him far enough to encourage him to take the step.

Draco paused. It wouldn't mean anything to him if Harry did escape, he decided after a moment. _Let him escape!_ he thought with a burst of anger. Draco hardly cared. Life would be better without the insufferable prick. Harry had no right to talk to him the way he did and Draco certainly didn't have to put up with his attitude. Nor his dirty, unattractive face.

_Yes, _Draco thought, sitting back into the arm of his couch, _Good riddance to Harry, I say. _He lifted his book to eye-level once more and settled to read, content to spend a quiet evening in his chambers.

But for the next ten minutes, every near-silent noise in the room kept sending body-shuddering shivers all down his spine and Draco couldn't help but feel he wasn't as alone as he had originally thought. He tried to tell himself that if there was a spy in the room, Harry would have found and killed him when they first entered; or if not, the spy would have acted by now.

Even still, fear grew in his mind like black weeds that suffocated the feelings of safety and protection he once had.

When the doorhandle twisted with no warning a minute later, Draco's eyes shot open in terror and felt the fear within him turn his blood to ice.

"Draco?" he heard Pansy call out.

Instantly, Draco was able to feel his extremities again. He exhaled a large breath of relief, stood up on shaky legs and watched as his friend entered. He would never admit how happy he was to see her. "Hello, Pansy," he said, his voice carefully monitored to sound completely normal. "Nice surprise."

"Where's Harry?"

Draco forced his face into a neutral expression and asked in a slightly disgusted tone, "How should I know what it is peasants do in their spare time?"

"Spare time? Draco, Harry doesn't have spare time. He's your bodyguard," she said, somewhat pointlessly, which made Draco inwardly scowl. As if he didn't know that! A look crossed Pansy's features after a moment as if she had just realised something. She narrowed her eyes at Draco. "What have you done?"

"Done?" Draco echoed.

"You did something."

"What?"

"That's why he's not here." She sent him a glare. "Draco Malfoy, what did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"Yes, you did. Harry wouldn't have left otherwise. You pushed him away," she reasoned. _Quite accurately, _Draco's traitorous mind added.

"I didn't do anything," he lied.

"Liar."

Draco cringed, hating that Pansy knew him quite well. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that the only way Harry would leave you alone after doing everything in his power you keep you alive for the past fortnight—and well, I might add—is if you did or said something that provoked him to get very angry with you and leave."

He blanched and tried to cover it with a sneer. He knew she was waiting for him to respond, but nothing came to mind that wouldn't make him admit she was right. And Draco hated admitting anything. He remained quiet.

"I knew it. You're risking your father's wrath, you know," she pointed out in an annoying sing-song voice. Again, Pansy was right. Another layer of guilt covered what he had once considered to be his clean conscience. "After everything he did to make sure you got the best soldier as your bodyguard," she continued, sending him pointed looks. "You made a compromise—"

"I know, alright!" he snapped, unused to the feeling of shame worming inside him like an uncomfortable stomach bug. "I know father'll be upset, but I don't—" He paused and sighed. "I don't know where he is." Even admitting it aloud to his best friend was more painful than pulling his own teeth out. "He just left."

"Where did he go?"

Draco glared at her. "I just said, I don't _know_. He got angry and stormed out. He could be half-way back to his godforsaken homeland right now."

"Harry wouldn't just leave," she reasoned. "We need to find him."

"_No_," Draco replied adamantly, sending a cross look at her. "Definitely not. If he wants to come back, he'll come back. But I'm not going to go chasing after him like some idiot weak animal."

"Too proud?"

Seething within, Draco clenched his jaw and muttered, "I may be proud, but he is too stubborn. Why must you make me feel like I'm the only bad person? He's got his own faults too."

Pansy's face softened. "But sometimes, Draco, you cross the line and don't realise it. I'm just afraid that you might have gone too far over it this time."

Draco said nothing in return.

"What will you do?" Pansy asked eventually.

"Nothing." _Except wait,_ he added silently.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Draco's more concerned about Harry's disappearance that he lets on. Lucky for him, Harry's closer than he thinks. _


	23. The Problem with First Names

_A/N: Thanks for all your advice on improving the story summary, guys. Much appreciated._

_Also, another thank you to CuteDragon for offering to translate _We The Kings_ into German, especially after just finishing the mammoth task of translating all 70 chapters of MHDSR _=). _The link to both of those is on my profile, if you're interested._

_Anyway, enjoy chapter 22!_

-mp-

Chapter 22

**The Problem with First Names**

Harry wasn't waiting outside his chambers the following morning. As Draco exited his door, he half expected one of Harry's pitiable insults to be thrown his way about the impeccability with which he dressed.

_"God, Malfoy, you're such a girl,"_ Harry would say.

He, in turn, would mock Harry's seemingly unbearably horrible face and inability to take a bath.

_"And I suppose you're the authority on looking presentable,"_ he would snap back.

But none of this happened.

Draco had simply assumed Harry would have gotten over his stubbornness and returned to his post, but perhaps Pansy had been right. Perhaps Draco had pushed him too far this time.

Forgoing breakfast, Draco went down to the training grounds where Lord Nott was on duty. He knew this was where Harry was supposed to be every morning. Draco despised the small bit of hope in himself that Harry would be there today.

He tried to make sense of his concerns. _It's because if Harry's gone, Father will give me more guards again_, he reasoned to himself.

When he arrived at the Square, Lord Nott himself told Draco—quite furiously—that Harry wasn't there and never turned up.

Next, he went to Blaise and shaped his face into an uncaring, impatient mask. "Have you seen my bodyguard?" he posed with a well-practiced aloofness, as if finding Harry was more a chore than a hope.

"Not since yesterday morning," Blaise answered. "I just thought he was with you."

"Well he isn't, the imbecile," Draco muttered. He leant in closer to Blaise to say, "Tell no one I was here and if you see him, let me know immediately."

Blaise agreed and Draco left, now almost ready to admit to himself that the uneasy feeling within his gut that was slowly growing was worry.

-mp-

Since storming out of the Prince's chambers, Harry had been caught up in a whirlwind of thought.

At first, he firmly had it in his mind that he would steal a horse, escape the Empire and ride back to Hufflepuff. There was no way he was staying with the idiot Prince any longer. After everything Harry had done for him, it had hurt to see the blond step all over him like he was dirt.

Harry wasn't delusional; he wasn't expecting a miracle on the Prince's half. But he had started to think that the animosity between them was a fraction less than when they had started, and he had thought the Prince would have agreed.

Obviously not.

Two things stopped on the way to the stables. The first was Remus. Harry still had no idea where he was being held, and he would rather have died than given up on rescuing his mentor. Harry's position as a soldier of rank among the Empire was his best bet on discovering Remus' location.

The second, bizarrely, was the voice that had whispered his name in the Dark Forest. He hadn't given much thought to that strange experience, simply because he didn't know what it was. But as Harry was ready to burst into the stables and steal a horse, the memory surfaced and Harry paused. The voice hadn't said his name for no reason. There had been a purpose. And although it didn't make sense to him yet, Harry was determined to find out.

So he spun around and turned back to the Castle. Deciding he was still burning with fury at the Prince, Harry spent the next hours circling the darkened and empty corridors of the Black Castle, losing himself and wandering aimlessly among suits of armour, enormous paintings and walled frescos. The scenes depicted were of war and bloodshed and victory. The further Harry descended into the depths of the Castle, the older the paintings seemed to become.

Grabbing a flaming torch off a metal bracket hammered into the wall, Harry meandered along the stone corridors, interpreting pictures of the Empire's past, entranced by the sights. The artists had to be commended, Harry thought. He had never seen pictures so intricately and carefully drawn and coloured.

After a while, Harry lost track of where he was.

He reached a war painting that looked to depict a scene that was more mythical than real. In the sky behind the battle, Harry could see creatures liked winged lions flying through the sky. He tried to recall their names from old stories he had heard as a young boy. _Griffins?_ He looked at the skirmish in the centre of the painting and was transfixed by the battle between what appeared to be two mighty warriors. One was wearing green armour—which Harry could assume was Slytherin—and the other was dressed in what appeared to be gold chain mail with a thick, long maroon cloak trailing behind in the time-frozen wind. In the centre of his shield was a winged lion, while in the warrior's other hand was a long and powerful sword. The weapon looked like it could cut through metal.

A crease formed between Harry's eyebrows. Which battle was this? Even if it was mythical, Harry would have thought he would have heard of it.

A sound shook him out if his thoughts and Harry tensed. He heard a murmur from somewhere not far off.

Remounting his torch on an empty sconce so as not to carry the light with him, Harry ventured deeper into the darkness. Within a moment, he was shrouded in near complete darkness and Harry was sure hardly anyone ever came into this corner of the Castle at all.

The murmuring increased in volume.

Harry began to make out words.

"... me to do, my lord? Ask and it shall be done."

He froze. He recognised the speaker. It was the King.

As a second voice replied, Harry felt a sharp pain in his forehead.

_ "Everything is going as planned, Lucius. Severus tells me that the boy is getting ready."_

"How soon? When will he be ready?"

The second voice hissed angrily and Harry winced, bringing a hand to his forehead to try and soothe his sudden acute headache. He frowned. _Severus?_ Harry only knew of one Severus. It couldn't possibly be the same person, could it? What did Snape have to do with anything?

_"Do not ask me stupid questions! I will tell you, when the time comes. All you need to do is continue to war with Durmstrang and build your army."_

"Yes, my lord," the King replied. "Durmstrang will fall."

Harry chanced a step closer, pressing his hand to his forehead hard, his face screwed in pain. Why was it hurting so much?

_"I fear you have grown weak, Lucius. You are not trying hard enough. The only things spurring you on are the threats against Draco,"_ the second voice hissed with menace. Harry's ears perked up. _"Without them, the war would be in shambles."_

"I have thousands of troops employed, my lo—"

_"They are useless to me if they are not winning! Perhaps I should make Karkaroff's minions try harder to kill your son. Perhaps then you might fight this war like you mean it."_

Harry winced and frowned in confusion. Who was this second voice? Why did he want Draco dead?

The King was silent for a long moment. "But ... he is my son."

_"And you are my puppet. I will do with the young Malfoy what I want. Even if it's just to teach you a lesson. If I want him dead, he will die. Maybe then you might take me seriously."_

"Yes, my lord. Do with him as you wish," the King answered automatically, without any emotion of conviction in his voice, as if he had been suddenly cast under a spell.

_"I will. Draco's life is in my hands as a bargaining chip until you give me what I want."_

"In just a few weeks Durmstrang will be yours. Then your army will be ready to fight against the Chosen One," the King recited monotonously.

_"And then ... then, I will get the means to restore my body,"_ the second voice hissed almost silently. _"Now Lucius. Go."_

Harry stiffened a second before he bolted away, running as fast as he could, climbing back up dozens of spiralling stone staircases until he reached the common corridors.

Night had settled. The Castle was asleep.

But Harry was wide, wide awake.

-mp-

"He still hasn't returned?" Pansy asked Draco at lunch. The pair were seated outside, hidden in one of the Castle's courtyard, so that no one would notice that the Prince was suspiciously without an escort.

"No," the Prince murmured, staring into his glass of cool lemonade. "I think he's gone."

"Gone, meaning ...?"

"Meaning back to where he came from. If not for the fact that I now am inevitably going to inherit a small army to be my new protection, I couldn't be happier."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You keep acting like you don't care, but I can tell that you do," she remarked, taking a sip of her glass.

"Excuse me? I don't _care_," he sneered.

"Blaise told me you were asking after Harry this morning," she replied with a smug smile.

Draco's face dropped. "The bastard," Draco hissed under his breath.

"That _bastard_ is my husband-to-be, so I'll thank you not to call him that." She smoothed her dress on her lap, straightening the crinkles. "What did you father say at breakfast?"

"I didn't go."

"You haven't seen your parents yet today?"

"No." Draco sighed. "But I've got dinner in a few hours."

"What will you say then? They're going to notice Harry's absence."

"I don't know," Draco said morosely, already resigned to his imminent doom. Stupid Harry and his stupid stubbornness! If he was here, none of this would have happened!

_If you hadn't spoken to him the way you did, he would never have left in the first place, _the voice in his mind reminded him. Draco tried to shush his conscience, but the layers of guilt kept mounting. He wasn't accustomed to it.

"I'll come with you if you want. For support," Pansy offered, sending a sympathetic look his way.

"Thanks," he muttered dryly, already picturing his father's fury and shuddering inwardly.

The next little while passed in silence as Draco slowly made his way through his lunch. Just as he took the last bite a faraway expression came upon Pansy.

"I just realised something," she said.

"What?"

"No one's tried to kill you today."

Draco paused for a second and found her to be correct. "That's strange." He hardly ever thought about it these days, mostly because he knew Harry was always aware and alert, and Draco had to do very little.

"It's too strange." She cast a furtive look about them in the courtyard. "Suddenly, I'm awfully scared to be out here without Harry."

"What would he have done?" Draco asked in mock disdain, mostly to keep pretence because inwardly, he knew the answer already.

"He would have checked the gardens at least three times by now and kept his hand hovering on his sword just in case," Pansy replied.

Draco snorted softly. "Better to be safe than sorry," he muttered to no one in particular, knowing Harry to be paranoid at the smallest things.

"We should go indoors. It's not safe for you out here with no guards," Pansy insisted, already gathering her skirts. She stood and Draco followed suit, eager to be inside the Castle and away from potential enemies.

As if on cue, an arrow came flying out of nowhere.

_Sshhhhwoooop!_

It flew past them, dangerously close to Draco's head, embedding itself into a tree behind them. The arrow quivered with its suddenly arrested force.

Pansy screamed and Draco dropped down, out of the line of fire behind the table. "Pansy! Run!" he yelled. The spy must have realised his targets were about to leave and quickly fired before he missed the chance. Draco saw Pansy run away screaming all the while. He was shocked that she could even run that fast while in her heels.

Another arrow arched towards him.

Draco turned to the direction of where the arrows were coming from. If he stood to run, he would risk being seen. But he couldn't stay crouched behind the table forever. Sooner or later, the spy would emerge, probably with a sword. Draco' heart was pounding in fear like it never had before. He had never been without a guard before and now his life was in direct danger. Where the bloody hell was Harry?

Another arrow fired at him, sailing over the top of the table.

He looked around him anxiously. The stone wall, behind which Pansy had now escaped to, was at least fifteen exposed metres away. He had nothing with him that he could transform into a weapon, and even if he did, Draco would hardly know how to use it properly. He had made it a point to avoid weaponry all his life.

"Come out, little prince," he heard a man taunt him with a thick eastern accent.

Chills of fear and panic caressed his skin unnervingly. He felt his palms begin to sweat while his veins felt like they were being squeezed of blood, leaving him pale and out of breath.

_Harry, where are you?_ he thought desperately, knowing he was probably miles away by now.

"I need to kill you, little prince," the spy jeered with a perverted playful voice, toying with Draco's nerves like a puppeteer pulled on strings.

Trapped, Draco knew he needed to avoid being shot at all costs. If he ended up in the Infirmary, his father would know Harry wasn't there. Harry would then have the death sentence put on him, wherever he was, and Draco would end up with an entire platoon of guards again. The only way out was to run and try not to get hit, or to wait until Pansy called for more guards.

The spy let loose another arrow, but the table blocked it.

"I can't kill you if you hide behind the table like a little girl," the Durmstrang soldier said with a dark laugh.

"You know," Draco called back to the spy, "It may shock you, but I _don't_ actually want to be killed, you pea-brained idiot."

"If you don't cooperate, then I will be forced to kill you with my sword."

Draco's pulse quickened in dread. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he replied, clenching a fist tightly to keep out the panic in his voice. "You're surrounded, you know. I've got a dozen soldiers with their arrows trained on you right this moment."

"You're a terrible liar, little prince."

"You don't have to believe me, but it's the truth," Draco bluffed, wishing it were so. But he knew, in reality, he was totally alone.

"There is no one here, but you and me," the spy goaded.

Draco heard a second, deeper voice respond to the enemy. "That's where you're wrong."

_Schw-ack!_

Someone grunted in pain and a body collapsed to the ground.

Draco's eyes went wide and he stood up to see what had happened.

He saw Harry, bow raised in attack, looking at the dying Durmstrang man at his feet, with Harry's arrow buried in his chest.

A wave of unquenchable relief poured over Draco like ice-cool water and his limbs began quivering with release. He held onto the table for support.

Harry turned to Draco. "You okay?"

Draco could only nod, hardly able to believe Harry was actually there. The only thing going through his mind was, _Harry hadn't left. He hadn't gone back to Hufflepuff_.

The spy began choking, blood trickling out his mouth like scarlet poison. He summoned enough energy to spit at Harry's feet and send him a look of hatred.

Harry turned back to the dying man and sneered. "Consider your mission failed," he said tonelessly, before he grabbed his sword and pierced the spy's heart.

The man slumped, now dead. Harry stepped away and walked over to where Draco was still holding onto the table.

They stood opposite each other for a moment in silence. Draco wasn't sure what to say. He knew, in the depths of his heart, that he should probably address the problem that started this all, but he couldn't form the words. Whether it was due to his still present shock or his pride, he didn't know.

"Hello," Harry said eventually.

Draco swallowed. "Hello."

"You didn't get hurt, did you?" Harry asked. Draco could detect a slight flush on his face.

"No." He paused and took a moment to observe Harry. His eyes were bloodshot; like he hadn't slept at all. "How did you find me?"

A small smile came on Harry's face. "I heard Pansy run into the Castle screaming like she had hell on her heels. I knew you were having lunch with her so I assumed the worst and came." He shuffled on his feet and looked down at his sword, where the tip was red with blood. "Good thing I did."

Draco nodded, and felt two words form on the tip of his tongue. _Thank you_. He could say them in his mind, but they wouldn't come out.

Harry seemed to notice and the small smile on his face grew a fraction. "You're welcome," he muttered, uttering the phrase that was becoming the norm between them.

Draco let the muscles around his mouth relax a little. Trickles of guilt then began to weave inside his mind and suddenly all Draco could think was that he would be dead ten times over if it wasn't for Harry. He hated himself for hiding behind the table in fear of the Durmstrang spy, but he hadn't been equipped to fight him. Without Harry, Draco shuddered to think what state he would be in.

"Why didn't you leave?" Draco asked softly after a long pause, knowing Harry had every right to.

"I was going to," Harry answered honestly, and Draco fought to keep the wince off his face. "But ... changed my mind, I guess."

Draco got the impression that Harry was withholding information, but he was wise enough to know not to prod for the whole truth. He remained silent.

Harry asked, "Any spiders in your bed this morning?"

Draco could detect Harry's effort to lighten the mood with his question and he felt a small sense of relief. He smirked. "Not quite."

"Good. Didn't miss out on any action then," Harry replied, his tone light, as if he was ready to move past the yet unspoken conversation of their argument the night before. "Though I can't say the same here. Two seconds in your presence and my sword's already bloody."

"What can I say? I'm a wanted man," Draco replied, matching Harry's casual tone.

Harry snorted. "Don't I know it. You'll give me gray hairs before I turn twenty-five. Bloody nuisance, you are," he murmured, but Draco could tell he didn't mean it. In fact, there was a small smile on his face.

"Don't even get me started on _you_," Draco mocked in an equally teasing manner. "Merlin, Harry, do you even know what a comb is? Much less, how to use it?"

Harry shot him an odd look; a crease line bisected his forehead in confusion. "Harry?"

Draco felt a flush of embarrassment sweep through him, momentarily numbing all his limbs. _Did I really just say his first name? _"My mistake. I meant, _imbecile_."

"Oh yes, sure, because 'Harry' and 'imbecile' are so alike," Harry drawled sarcastically.

Draco snorted. "You said it."

Harry shook his head in amusement. "You know, I think I'm getting used to your insults. At first, they were annoying, but now all I see is your mouth moving and this weird noise coming out."

"My, my, look who's suddenly become cocky," Draco commented, a little surprised at the confidence Harry seemed to have found. "Talking back to the Prince like that; it'll get you kicked into the dungeons."

"I'm not talking back to the Prince," Harry replied. "I'm talking back to _Draco_." He emphasised the final word and it made Draco feel embarrassed all over again. He was sure Harry was making fun of him.

"You don't get to use my first name," Draco responded.

"Neither do you," Harry replied, with a one-sided smirk, which had Draco's stomach flip inexplicably. Harry peered directly into his eyes and suddenly, all Draco could see was the green in them. "I'm only your bodyguard, remember?"

"And don't you forget it," Draco said, his voice had that same arrogant tone it usually did and Draco was glad to hear it.

Suddenly, Blaise and half a dozen other soldiers came running into the courtyard, followed by a huffing Pansy. They stopped short upon seeing Draco and Harry, obviously alone and out of danger.

"What ..." Blaise began, looking at the two other of them in surprise. "Pansy said you were in trouble."

"I was," Draco replied. "Then Ha—_this one_ decided to show up." He jerked his thumb towards Harry and pointedly ignored turning his face to look at the grin that had, no doubt, spouted on the smug bastard's face. Draco was sure Harry would make him pay later for slipping up with his name.

"The body's there," Harry said, pointed towards the trees. Draco could hear the smile in his voice. "You should get rid of it soon, unless you want this place to stink of a dead corpse."

Draco screwed his face and against his better judgement, turned to Harry. "That is repulsive. Only _you_ would say something so vulgar."

Harry shrugged, as if he didn't see anything wrong with what he said. "It's the truth."

Blaise ordered two of his charge to collect the body. Meanwhile, Pansy approached them, with a large smile on her face. Draco silently ordered her to not say anything that would incriminate him.

"It's good to have you back, Harry," Pansy said. "Draco was _so_ worried."

Draco choked on his own saliva.

"Really?" Harry asked slowly and knowingly, seeming to love the implications made about Draco.

_He would, the bastard,_ Draco thought.

"Obviously, that is a complete _lie_," Draco said aloud, glaring at Pansy and studiously ignoring Harry. "I was not worried. On the contrary, I was—"

"No need to blush, Draco. We all think it's wonderful you care—"

"I don't care!" Draco exclaimed adamantly, suddenly wondering whether he _was_ blushing. Merlin help him if he was. Harry wouldn't let him live it down.

"Then why were you running around the castle this morning to try and find him?" Pansy asked in that sickly sweet voice of hers.

To Draco's utter mortification, Harry snorted.

"I wasn't trying to find him," he denied, knowing full well it was a lie.

"Really?" Blaise jumped in, obviously ready to aid Pansy in her plight to make Draco absolutely miserable. "But you asked me and Nott this morning if we knew where he was. You seemed really worried—"

"I. Do. Not. Care. About. Harry!" Draco cried out exasperatedly.

In the short silence that followed, Draco could hear Harry laughing softly behind him. Unable to handle the humiliation, Draco whirled to face him and glared angrily. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"That! Laughing! Stop it."

Harry spread his arms in a show of innocence and it made Draco want to hit him.

Pansy spoke up, "Oh, leave _Harry_ alone, Draco. I'm sure _Harry's_ just having fun."

It was then Draco realised he had said Harry's first name again. He felt his face heat up. He took a deep breath and continued to glare at Harry. "You just want to make my life a living hell, don't you?"

"Not at all. With friends like them, I don't need to. I'm just around to make sure you still _have_ a life," Harry said with a grin.

"And you're doing a marvellous job, Harry," Pansy praised from behind Draco.

Draco's gaze never left Harry's. "We'll see about that."

Harry, never one to step away from a challenge, broadened his grin. "Yes, we will."

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Back in Hufflepuff, everyone is getting angsty about Harry's and Remus' disappearance. While in Slytherin, Harry accepts the ultimate challenge in protecting Draco._


	24. The Challenge and the Champion

Chapter 23

**Challenge and Champion**

The call to shut the city gates rang through the streets, but Ron remained in the large entryway, staring out into the miles of unbroken horizon of the Nullius, waiting to see Harry and Remus finally return to them.

It wouldn't happen, of course, but that didn't stop Ron from hoping. It had been a month to the day since they disappeared, and there was no saying when they'd return.

"Ron, the sun's down," he heard his sister say from behind him.

He turned to look at her, shivering in her shawl wrapped tightly around her. "I know," he said tiredly.

"Come on, let's get something to eat," she suggested warmly.

Ron sighed for a long moment, returning his gaze to the red sunset over the empty land. No one to be seen. A pair of gate watchmen started to close the large gates, separating the walled town from the dangers of the wild Nullius. Ron stayed where he was until the gates finally closed with a large, shuddering _boom_. The sound echoed in his very soul, very much like a death sentence condemning anyone left outside.

"Yeah, let's eat," he agreed sadly, joining his sister. He placed an arm over her shoulder and held her close to his side.

"They'll come back, you know. One day."

"When?"

"I don't know."

Ron's forehead crinkled and pang of ache stabbed his heart. "What if they're already dead? They could be."

Ginny shook her head. "They're not. We would know ... somehow."

He sighed again, refusing to let the thought of Harry being dead fester in his mind. "Yeah."

After a while of walking beside each other, she spoke again. "I miss him too, Ron," she said softly. "We can't give up hope."

Dinner passed in a blur for Ron; he couldn't shake the feeling of despair that had settled in the pit of his stomach. It stayed with him throughout the meal. He was grateful for Hermione, who kept sending him secret comforting smiles behind spoonfuls of her food, and it alleviated his ache a little.

He dawdled on his way home, not yet ready to face his family. A month ago exactly, he still had his friend with him and everything was normal. How had things changed so suddenly? Ron tried to imagine where Harry could possibly be, whether dead, or alive but hungry, weak and lonely. The ache in his heart doubled. If he had even the slightest inkling of where Harry was, he could jump on his horse and race to rescue him in a heartbeat.

He felt for his younger sister as well. Ginny hadn't been the same since Harry disappeared. It seemed as if she had suddenly grown up and become a young woman. She wasn't nearly as giggly or playful as before; she had realised the seriousness of what was happening. Harry might never come back. And that scared her.

"Penny for them?"

He turned and saw Hermione, smiling gently as him. She looked absolutely lovely, and Ron was immediately stumped as to how she could find herself attracted to him. It seemed impossible; like a bird falling in love with a fish.

"Hermione," he whispered simply, giving her a small smile of his own. Her mere presence shone a light within him.

"You're not well," she observed.

"No. Just ... tired. Tired of waiting. It's been a month now. It's almost useless."

She approached him and used both hand to gently cup Ron's jaw. She looked him directly in the eye. "It's not useless. I have every hope that Harry will return," she told him. Her voice was soft, but her tone was of conviction. He was almost tempted to believe her.

"You can't know that," he whispered, looking into her large brown eyes.

"But I do," she said firmly but warmly. The pad of her thumb made gentle swirls on his stubbled jaw. He leant into her touch. It was intoxicating. "I love you, Ron," she whispered in the small space of air between them.

He smiled. "I love you too." He leant down and kissed her softly, forgetting for the moment that they were outside and in plain sight of anyone who would walk by.

She separated them within seconds, with that very thought in mind. "Not here."

"I know; I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She stepped back and took his hand into hers. "Come," she asked in a gentle whisper.

He followed her to her chambers.

-mp-

Out of the window of his small wooden house, Albus Dumbledore spied the two young lovers in their embrace, and smiled. In these upsetting times, it was a warm sight to behold. Albus knew it was something that, if discovered, would be frowned upon. He hoped for their sake, they could keep it a secret for a little while longer. In the face of Harry's disappearance, it was what they both needed.

"Albus," he heard from behind him.

He turned and saw a man, dressed entirely in black, with shoulder-length hair of the same colour. His face was pale, long and sombre, as if he spent his entire life smelling a particularly horrible odour. "Severus," Albus greeted back to his friend. "Please, take a seat."

The man did.

"Tea?" Albus offered. "The water's boiling."

"No, thank you," he replied.

Albus shrugged and went about preparing himself a cup. While he shuffled about in front of his stove, he said, "And how are you?"

"I've been better."

"Haven't we all? Times being what they are, I'm sure we could all use a nice, relaxing holiday. Perhaps a warm summer near the beach," Albus mused, filling his tea cup with boiling water and dangling a tea bag inside. Once prepared, he ambled to the chair opposite Severus.

"The beach? Albus, now is not the time for your jokes," Severus replied with a frown on his face.

"I would think it is the perfect time," Albus said lightly. He took a sip and sighed happily. "Cinnamon tea is my favourite, did you know that?"

Severus' frown deepened. "You-Know-Who hasn't contacted me in days," he said in a pointed reply.

Albus' demeanour changed instantly, like a single candle doused in a cold, empty room. "Why not?"

"Perhaps he has discovered where my true allegiances are; that I've been lying to him all this time," Severus suggested. "I fear he is getting frustrated with me. And now that Potter is missing, the deceit is becoming absurd. We have no idea where Potter is, but it's almost as if Riddle knows ..."

Severus gave Albus a long deliberate look, as if trying to convey something unsaid.

Albus understood him immediately. "If you are insinuating that Riddle already has Harry—"

"I am," Severus interrupted. "It's the only explanation. Why else would he stop contacting me? Riddle finally has what he wants and he's realised where my loyalties truly lie."

Albus remained quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Eventually, he spoke. "Riddle doesn't have Harry yet."

"How can you know?"

"Because if he did, everything would have changed."

"Changed?" Severus echoed. "Albus, the Empire is becoming the very thing we have feared it would be for the past twenty years. Its power is growing every day and you and I both know it's got nothing to do with Lucius Malfoy. Riddle's strength is growing, and that can only be possible if he has Potter. He'll take over the Empire, the _world_, at any moment. Things _have_ changed."

Albus' eyebrow twitched as a new thought came to him. Severus was right; Riddle's strength _was_ growing. But without his body and without the means for magic, how was this possible? Suddenly, the answer had become so obvious.

"Then Harry must be in Slytherin," Albus said suddenly, with such conviction and such clarity, that he wondered why he never knew for certain before. _Of course…_

"What?"

"... But Riddle doesn't know it," Albus finished.

Severus screwed his face in confusion. "How?"

Albus smiled slightly as the idea fully formed in his head. He faces Severus to explain. "Riddle still thinks Harry is _here_, in Hufflepuff. But we both know he is not. On the contrary, Harry is _near_ him, and as a result, Riddle's power is growing. So if Harry is _near_ Riddle, and Riddle is _in_ Slytherin, then voila! Harry must be in Slytherin also."

"Near him?" Severus repeated. "How can that affect Riddle? We have no reason to believe that close proximity is all it takes."

"Don't we?" Albus smiled, his blue eyes twinkling behind him glasses.

Severus breathed out in irritation. "If there is something you're not telling me—"

"It's nothing you don't know, Severus. Don't get upset. Remember what happened? On the night Riddle killed James and Lily? Do you remember what he did to Harry?"

Severus looked at him, dead-pan. "I wasn't there. I wouldn't know."

"Yes, but I've told you."

"All you've told me is that Riddle marked Potter with that scar on his forehead."

"Exactly!" Albus pronounced.

Severus let the silence reign for about three seconds before exploding with, "Exactly, what?"

"Riddle _marked_ Harry," Albus repeated. "You see, when Riddle chose James to die and Harry to live, he was choosing his match—his _enemy_. Riddle marked Harry to make a claim that _that_ tiny baby would one day grow up to be his adversary. That scar is more than just a blemish, Severus. It was created with _magic_ and has deeper properties than you or I ever thought. This created a link between Harry and Riddle."

"What sort of link?"

"A magical one, manifested in Harry's scar. Which is why, if the two of them were to ever get in close proximity to one another, they would be able to sense it." Albus sat back and sipped his tea, extraordinarily pleased. "Sometimes I surprise even myself," he muttered to himself.

"But if Riddle can sense Potter is near, doesn't that mean he should be able to find and kill the boy?"

"Oh, he may _sense_ Harry, but he doesn't necessarily _know_ Harry is close by. Riddle himself wouldn't have a clue why he is suddenly becoming stronger. It's not like this has happened before. He wouldn't know something like this _could_ happen. And frankly, neither did I until now."

Severus' frown remained on his face; his black eyebrows placing a dark shadow over his eyes. "Then this presents a new problem," he announced.

"Yes?"

"We need to get Potter out of Slytherin. The longer he stays, the stronger Riddle gets."

Albus' light heartedness seemed to dissipate. "Yes," he agreed, suddenly looking worn out and tired. "But what's more, Harry still doesn't know about his parentage. He doesn't know who James was before he came to Hufflepuff. He doesn't know about Gryffindor. He doesn't even know who Riddle is. But ... he will soon find out." He remained silent for a moment and nodded sadly. Sighing, he said, "You're right, Severus. We need to get Harry out. But I fear the task is much easier said than done. The Empire is enormous. Even if we manage to get inside, where on earth would we start looking?"

-mp-

Harry agitatedly rubbed his forehead for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

"Would you stop that?" Draco snapped.

"What?"

"Scratching your forehead. It's annoying."

"I'm not scratching. I'm _rubbing_," Harry corrected.

"Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry. My mistake. Of _course_ you were rubbing. How could I possibly suggest otherwise?" Draco drawled.

"Shut up," Harry murmured, reaching up once more. "It hurts." Harry had never had a problem with his bizarre-looking scar on his forehead before. In fact, it had never been painful before. It was only in the last day or so that it suddenly began aching numbly.

"Let me see," he ordered, stepping up close to Harry, invading his personal space.

Harry immediately took a step back. "What are you doing?"

"Looking at your forehead," Draco explained impatiently. "Come on, let me see."

"No," Harry objected. "It's fine. It'll go away."

Draco sighed. "This again?"

"Yes."

"But what about, 'It's better to be safe than sorry'?" Draco smirked.

Harry frowned. "You can't use my own words against me."

"I just did. Now let me at it," Draco ordered again, stepping up close and trying to peer through the strands of Harry's hair to see the skin of his forehead.

"It's _fine_. Drop it." Harry pressed a hand to his forehead, restricting the view.

"We're about to go to a Royal Council meeting with my father, and I can't possibly concentrate if you're going to scratching your forehead the entire time like a moronic buffoon."

"I'm not scratching it, I'm—"

"—_rubbing_ it, yes I know! Now shut up and let me _see_ it!"

"No!"

"Lower your hand right now, or so help me, I will ... I'll ... I'll"

"Yes?" Harry smirked.

"Agh!" As if unable to contain himself, Draco suddenly slapped Harry on the cheek loudly.

"OW!" Harry exclaimed. His cheek suddenly bloomed with pain. He looked at Draco with his eyes open in shock. "You slapped me!"

Draco, for his part, looked just as shocked with his mouth open. It took him a moment to recover from the surprise before he smirked. "It felt good."

"But ... you _slapped_ me!" Harry thought it needed to be repeated as his cheek continued to throb.

"So I did."

"Why you ..." Harry placed a palm to his heated face and could almost feel Draco's handprint on there. "I have so many reasons to hit you back right now."

Draco smiled. "But you won't."

"Wouldn't I?"

"You're my bodyguard. That would be somewhat counterintuitive, no?"

Harry glared at him.

Draco took advantage of Harry's silence to quickly step up and swipe Harry's hair off his fringe. It was less than a second before Harry reacted and stepped away.

"Oi!" Harry yelped.

"What was _that_?" Draco demanded.

"What was what?"

"That weird scar." Obviously, less than a second was all it took for Draco to spot Harry's hair-hidden secret.

Harry frowned. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing if you've never told me about it before," Draco reasoned.

Harry made a face. "Have I told you about the scar across my back? No. So why would I tell you about this?"

"Because it's weird," Draco stressed.

"Is it?"

"It's shaped like a lightning bolt."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you. I _think_ I knew that," he huffed sarcastically.

"Why was it hurting?"

"I don't know."

"Is it hurting now?"

"No actually," Harry replied shortly, frowning at Draco. "Your slap took care of that. Now all the pain is on my cheek!"

In the short silence that developed, Draco had the audacity to smirk. "You're welcome."

"Welcome? For what?" Harry exclaimed exasperatedly.

"For taking the scar's pain away," Draco explained simply.

"Away? You put it on my cheek, you idiot!"

Draco's eyes darted to his left cheek; he peered closely. "Yes I can clearly see that. Goodness, is my hand really that small?"

"Fantastic. Now I'm going to walk away wearing your handprint on me," Harry complained.

"Oh calm down, you paranoid freak. The shape will disappear soon enough."

Suddenly, the trumpet call to call the Royal Council in session rang out. It was time to enter the senate room where the King awaited them.

Harry glared at Draco. "Not soon enough, you prat. Now everyone's gonna see!"

Draco laughed and began walking towards the doors.

Harry growled and followed. "Is this the thanks I get for coming back and saving your arse?" he asked to no one in particular.

"What were you expecting?" Draco asked over his shoulder to the trailing Harry.

"Something a little less violent, actually."

"Like what? A gentle pat on the back and a bunch of flowers?" Draco drawled, as if disgusted by the mere thought.

Harry laughed shortly. "The flowers I can do without. But I'd take a pat on the back to a slap any day. I mean, Merlin, you actually _slapped_ me! Why?"

Draco paused at the entrance to the Royal Court, and turned back to answer. "Because you were irritating me," he said.

"Because I wasn't letting you see my scar?"

"Well, I was only trying to help," Draco explained, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Harry could tell he wanted to go inside and drop the conversation.

Harry cracked a smile. "Some help," he muttered.

"Yes, well. It was _your_ stubbornness, so it's _your_ fault." Draco's mouth twitched upward a fraction.

"Of course it's my fault," Harry replied, indulging the Prince. "Because you're simply perfect."

"Exactly," Draco quipped, before turning back to the doors and letting himself inside.

Harry allowed himself one final smile before following the Prince inside to the magnificent Court, where dozens of nobles and dignitaries sat awaiting the royals.

-mp-

Draco's peripheral vision was stuck on Harry the entire time. His bodyguard kept rubbing his forehead and as Draco had predicted, he could hardly concentrate on anything that was being said. The thing was, Draco noticed, Harry kept doing it with a smile on his face, and Draco suddenly realised he was doing it on purpose.

_The bastard_, he mused, thinking of ways he could get Harry back later.

Draco tried vainly to focus on his father's speech about the economic advantages of their exported goods, or whatnot, but he could hardly think of anything duller. He knew he would be rebuked if his father ever found out.

"... high demand due to seasonal changes. Myself and my advisers deign it most beneficial to take advantage of our trading nations at this time. We will increase our revenue by—"

_Knock, knock, knock._

The three successive booms shuddered throughout the Court, drowning the King's speech in its echoing tremors. All heads turned expectantly to the doors. Draco absentmindedly saw Harry lower his hand.

The King frowned. "What is the meaning of this?" he snapped angrily.

No one had an answer and so he agitatedly motioned for his guards to open the door to the waiting visitor on the other side.

Keening his neck like everyone around him, Draco watched the enormous doors being opened. When he saw who was on the other side, he immediately gasped and tensed.

Three men, dressed in the war armour of Durmstrang, entered. Two of the men were carrying large white flags, indicating the peaceful nature of their arrival. It was universally known that a man with a white flag was a man that could not be touched. The third visitor, however, was without a flag. He walked in between his two counterparts, more than two heads taller than the others and with a confident stride that chilled Draco's blood, almost as if he knew no one and nothing could ever stand in his path and survive. The man's entire body was about double the size of a normal man's; his legs as thick as tree trunks and his arms swollen with exaggerated muscle. Draco had no doubt that this warrior was after his blood.

Collectively, every Slytherin in the room held his breath, awaiting the reason to the recent arrivals.

The three Durmstrang men walked into the centre of the Court, before the royal Thrones, directly before the King. Draco swallowed in fear and peripherally saw Harry step forward, with his hand held over his sword in alertness.

"Why have you come?" the King asked in a deathly controlled voice that was barely concealing his rage.

One of the men with a white flag spoke. "We come in peace," he announced.

The other white flag bearer added, "We have a message from our Lord Karkaroff."

"What message?" the King growled.

"An offer," answered the first, "to end the incessant attacks on your son once and for all."

"Oh?" the King hissed.

"Our Lord Karkaroff gives you an offer you cannot refuse," explained the second man with the flag.

It unnerved Draco to no end that the tallest of the three, the warrior in the middle, had yet to speak.

"What offer?"

The first man held his white flag a little higher. "To settle the matter once and for all, in the traditional way."

"His son for your son," added the second man.

"What?" the King demanded angrily.

Suddenly, finally, the third man made a move. Still as silent as a lamb, but as menacing as a bull, the giant warrior stepped closer to the thrones and stopped in front of Draco, facing him dead on.

Draco swallowed in fear as he kept his eyes trained on the pitch black orbs of his enemy, wondering if he was about to strike and kill him. _But he can't attack! They've got a white flag! _Draco though desperately. He fought to maintain calm and focus his own glare on the tall man.

He saw Harry step even closer as well, until he was standing directly behind Draco's throne, his hand now completely resting on his sword hilt, ready to draw it. Despite the tense situation, Draco relaxed a little. At least Harry was there.

"What is going on?" the King hissed.

None of the three Durmstrang men answered this question. Instead, the giant warrior in front of Draco wordlessly took off his right metal gauntlet.

Draco's blood ran cold. _No..._

Everyone gasped in shock.

The tall man threw his gauntlet down in front of Draco and stared at him dead on.

Draco was frozen in fear. He knew what this meant, and he knew, beyond any doubt, this would surely be his death sentence. Draco had been Challenged by this giant of a man, and anything less than an agreement was unacceptable. What would the people think if he didn't pick up the gauntlet? They would think him a coward, and rightly so. He needed to pick it up. But suddenly, his limbs wouldn't move and his breath stalled.

Draco stared at his challenger. How could he possibly fight this man? He was enormous! He looked like he learned how to fight before he could speak. His head was large and rough; his eyes had seen blood and warfare for all his life. This man was built to kill, and Draco, who had barely fought anyone in his life, wouldn't last two seconds in a duel with him.

He was dead. It was inevitable. This was the final way Durmstrang would ensure that the Slytherin Prince would finally fall.

He swallowed once more and forced a confident expression on his face. He was ready to stand up and pick the gauntlet, when suddenly—

—Harry stepped forward and stood directly before the warrior, between him and Draco.

"_Harry_," Draco whispered, suddenly realising what Harry was going to do. "No, step back ..."

"I accept the Challenge," Harry announced, no hint of fear or hesitation in his voice.

"No!" Draco exclaimed, louder this time. He stood up. "Harry, I order you to _take it back._"

Harry held an arm back to keep Draco at bay. "Stay behind me," he told the Prince.

"But the Challenge is mine!" Draco said, suddenly now fearful for Harry. Yes, Harry was a good swordsman, but he could be no match for this giant.

"And I am doing my job as your protector," Harry responded, keeping his eyes trained on the Durmstrang warrior.

"No! Harry ..."

"Draco," the King snapped to keep him quiet.

One of the men carrying a white flag spoke up, "The Challenge is for the Prince, not his soldier. It is the Prince who must respond."

The King stood up and towered over the Durmstrang flag carrier. "That man—" (he pointed at Harry) "—is my son's bodyguard. Any harm you present to the Prince must first go through him."

"The rules mention nothing about a bodyguard fighting in his stead," the flag carrier replied.

The King was silent for a moment, his eyes glaring menacingly at the man. Draco's eyes darted from his father, to the flag carrier, to Harry, desperately wanting to intervene. Either way, someone had to die, and he didn't want it to be Harry.

"Then the bodyguard will take up a new rank. He will be the Prince's Champion," the King announced.

Draco's eyebrows went up at that. He stared at his father. _That_ was unexpected. Draco knew that, traditionally, a Champion could stand as a replacement for the original intended recipient of a Challenge, but it hadn't be done in hundreds of years and it was an almost archaic title when it came to traditional duelling. It also didn't slip his notice that, usually, a Champion was instated to fight in the place of a less-able man or a woman. He wasn't sure if he should be insulted.

Harry, without wasting another second, bent down.

"No!" Draco yelped once more, but knew he was unable to stop it.

In the next moment, the gauntlet was in Harry's hand.

The Challenge had been accepted.

Harry was now Draco's Champion.

In the silence that followed, Draco felt a sinking feeling in his heart as he watched Harry stare down the man who would very likely be his murderer.

The King spoke eventually. "The Tournament will be held on Saturday week, at the Royal Amphitheatre."

And it was done. Harry had just made a deal with the devil that would very likely take his life.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Sirius finds out the identity of his neighbour; and Draco sees Harry training … shirtless._


	25. Semantics

Chapter 24

**Semantics**

Remus stared at the full moon in fear. It would happen. Tonight, he would transform. And Sirius, his oblivious neighbour, will finally discover his identity.

He wasn't sure which would be more painful.

"You there?" he heard Sirius ask him from the other side of the stone wall.

He was almost too frightened to respond. But he did. "Yes," he whispered, eyes glued to the deathly moon, half-hidden behind trailing silver clouds. Any moment now the agony would begin, and Remus could do nothing to stop it.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Sirius observed. "Sick of me already?"

Remus wasn't able to pinpoint what he felt towards Sirius, if he was honest with himself. At first, it was full, unobscured hatred of James' and Lily's murderer. But over the first few weeks, Remus could feel his hatred abate. He felt angry with himself for letting Sirius get to him a second time, but it couldn't be denied. Even speaking to him was enough to set his memories whirring down paths it shouldn't, igniting feelings and emotions he hadn't felt in twenty years.

"Hello? You there?"

He closed his eyes and wished Sirius would shut up. With his heart beating unnaturally fast for a human, Remus knew the time was almost upon him.

"Hello?" Sirius asked again.

Remus heard him shuffle closer to the hole in the wall, obviously wandering where his talkative neighbour had gone to.

It was then it started.

"_Agh!_" he yelled as the sudden agonising stab of pain ripped through his back like the steel of a sword. His spine curved uncontrollably like a bow being pulled taut, ready for fire. His pupils dilated, his breath crashed through him with a mighty roar. His hands and feet grew, and his skin developed a layer of thick, coarse, brown fur.

Remus screamed. He couldn't hear anything anymore apart from his own heartbeat and his pain. It was everywhere. Within him. Around him. Through him. Inside him. He couldn't escape it. Like a cage suffocating every ounce of humanity out of him, until all that was left was a hideous monster of the night.

Before long, he was fully wolf. Nothing and no one could have kept him back. Before long, all conscious thought fled him and all that was left was a raving, savage, beastly need to kill, destroy, feed and survive.

Beast.

That's what he was.

And for that night, Remus was gone.

-mp-

Ironically, when he woke up next, fatigue swept over him like a tidal wave. Bone weary, disgusted and sick, Remus felt like curling into a ball and never waking up. The day after a transformation was always horrible. But being alone and cold in a prison made it all the worse. He looked around and saw hideous scratch mark all over the walls. He probably didn't look much better as well.

Then, suddenly, he remembered Sirius.

_Oh, god ..._

He felt physically sick with worry and fear. Glancing at the hole in the wall with childlike hesitation, Remus could only imagine what his neighbour was thinking now. His secret was secret no longer, but Remus wasn't ready for it. Feeling woefully unprepared and frightened, all Remus could do was hope that Sirius wouldn't speak.

His hope shattered.

"It's you, isn't it?"

He couldn't answer him. Words had abandoned him, along with the strength and will to survive. Never had the desire to die been so strong as in this moment. How was Remus supposed to face him?

"Answer me," Sirius said softly.

The anxiety in his voice sent Remus' heart aching. But how could he respond? What was he supposed to say? To be so cruelly betrayed and abandoned more than two decades ago, and then be thrust together after so long with control was too much for Remus to take.

It made it all the worse because Remus wasn't sure the place inside his heart once reserved for Sirius had gone entirely cold. Whether Remus wanted it or not, his feelings hadn't left him.

"Answer me ... _please_ ..."

It hurt. It physically hurt him. Remus clutched his heart and felt the tears pour down his face with fury. How could this be happening? Could the fates possibly be this cruel to him? Sirius' desperation was like an arrow straight into his heart, and Remus couldn't take it out.

"_Please_ ..." he said again.

Screwing his eyes shut, Remus let out a shuddering breath. "I can't," he whispered into his cell, knowing Sirius could hear him. "Stop it."

Sirius was silent for a long moment and Remus almost thought he was respecting Remus' wish. But then, Sirius spoke again.

"It's you," he breathed, almost scared and disbelieving.

"Stop, please," Remus begged. He couldn't take it. It ached too much.

"No ... I can't, it's ... I need to know it's you," Sirius said. Remus could hear him coming closer to the wall. "Tell me it's you."

Remus couldn't force his mouth to move; the beating of his heart was drowning all his thoughts. All that remained was the pain of twenty years ago—when the man he loved more than anything ripped his heart out and crushed it in betrayal.

"Tell me please," Sirius whispered, his jaw obviously clenched. "Is this a dream? A nightmare? Have you come to torment me? Tease me? Hurt me?" He paused and Remus suddenly realised they were both sharing the same pain. "You have haunted my mind every day for the past twenty years. I've been insane with thoughts of you; with the memories of you. Your face, your voice, your touch. How can it be you? How can you be here? I don't understand."

"Stop it," Remus said again, finally having found his voice. "Stop talking." Every word Sirius said was a knife to his chest. More painful than any transformation had ever been.

"_Remus_."

His heart froze.

There it was. His name.

There was no going back.

"Tell me it's you. Please. I beg you," Sirius whispered.

And finally, Remus could take it no more. He uttered one word in reply.

"_Sirius_."

An overwhelming flood of emotions crashed into him, overtaking his mind, body and soul, and wringing tears he never knew he had. Saying that name aloud after two decades was either a curse or a cure. It either opened old wounds, or healed them. It was too soon to tell.

He could hear Sirius breathing hard on the other side of the wall.

"It's you. You're here," he breathed eventually.

"Yes..." Remus replied, resting his head back against the wall he was leaning against, his emotions having defeated his will to resist the past.

Strangely enough, nothing else was said for the night. With the revelation of their identities, both of them had a whole lifetime of memories to contend with.

Exhausted and drained, Remus finally let sleep overtake him.

-mp-

"You idiotic, stubborn, self-sacrificing _Hufflepuff_!" Draco yelled at Harry as soon as the Royal Council session had been adjourned and they had been let out.

Harry rolled his eyes. "How can I be stubborn and self-sacrificing at the same time?" he asked.

"Stop it! Stop pretending everything's okay and stop joking!" Draco cried out, hitting Harry on the arm in a surprisingly forceful shove.

Harry frowned and centred himself. "Why? And must you keep hitting me?"

"Do you realise what's going on? Do you realise you're about to _die_?"

"So sure already? Merlin, I haven't even fought the man."

"Did you see him? He's huge! He'll squash you like a bug and then if you live through that, snap your neck with his bare hands."

Harry was a little insulted. "Hey, you know, I'm not a bad fighter. I can hold my own in a duel. Hell, I've fought a lion and lived to tell the tale. You've seen it to know for yourself!"

"I know, but Harry, he's a _giant_. He probably learnt how to fight before he could walk. He kills people for a living!" Draco's eyes began darting around the place desperately. Eventually, he refocused them on Harry and shook his head. "And hHe'll kill you."

Harry's defences dropped as he sighed and turned to face Draco straight on. "Think of how much worse it would be if _you_ had taken up the gauntlet."

"What do you mean?"

"If _I've_ got no chance, then neither do you. You would have died too. And I ..." Harry paused, unable to figure out how to finish that sentence. The idea of Draco being killed after all his efforts just seemed wrong and unjust. Draco couldn't die. Harry wanted him alive and safe. The memory of a few nights ago surfaced in his mind, when he heard the King consorting with that unnamed voice. There were more after Draco's blood than just Durmstrang, and Harry had suddenly felt like he was fighting an entire war for Draco. Too many people wanted him dead and it was Harry's job to keep him alive.

Eventually, Harry finished with, "You just ... can't die."

Draco shook his head. "But neither can you."

"Yeah but, better me than you."

Harry wasn't sure what made him hold eye contact with Draco but he couldn't fight it. Suddenly, all Harry could focus on was the grey of Draco's eyes and the small filaments of silver within his irises, surrounded by fine blond eyelashes. They weren't standing overly close to each other, but in that brief moment, Draco felt like the closest person in the world to him. He didn't know what that meant.

"Why?" Draco asked in the silence.

Harry grappled for an answer. "Because ... you're the Prince of Slytherin. And I'm ... just a soldier."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "That's rather self-deprecating. Where's all your hatred of Slytherin gone, I wonder?"

"Oh I still hate Slytherin," Harry assured him with a mischievous smile. "Trust me, that won't change. I'm just being your bodyguard."

"Champion," Draco corrected.

Harry snorted. "Semantics. Means the same thing: I go fight a giant in your stead."

"But it also means you have to wear my seal."

"Your what?"

"My royal seal. As my representative in a duel, your armour needs to be inscribed with my crest," Draco explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've got your own bloody _crest_?"

Draco grinned. "You said it yourself. I'm the Prince of Slytherin. Of course I've got my own crest. And you need to wear it."

Harry sighed. "Knowing my luck, it's probably pink with rabbits on it."

Draco elbowed him in the ribs. "Oi, what's that saying about me?"

"Exactly what it implies, you're Royal Highness," Harry replied smartly with a large grin slapped across his face.

"You know, I'm not sure I like you're newfound snark."

"I'm not sure I like the way you keep hitting me," Harry replied. "I mean, I'm probably going to end up with more bruises from _you_ than that Durmstrang giant."

Draco nodded happily. "Good. It'll put you in your rightful place."

"Bloody ponce," he grumbled. "Nothing I do can ever be enough for you."

"You can always keep trying," Draco said in a tone that suggested Harry's statement had been completely correct.

"How about I win this fight for you? Will that be enough?" Harry asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Draco was silent for a few seconds, staring at Harry in thought, as if trying to weigh up the value of Harry's victory. After the quiet, all he said was, "Yes."

Harry blinked, not expecting that answer. Draco rarely said anything so agreeable. "Yes?" he echoed.

"Yes," Draco repeated. "Win the fight, and I'll stop hounding on you."

"There must be a catch," Harry guessed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course there's a catch. In this case, it's a seven foot tall giant from Durmstrang that eats little children for dinner with an axe and pitchfork," he said dryly.

Harry laughed. "Blimey, then I better hope I win!"

"I know I am," Draco replied. "And I hope you know that I will personally oversee that you spend every waking hour from now until next Saturday training you arse off."

"You're going to oversee my training?" Harry repeated, looking amused. "Have you ever picked up a sword before in your life?" he teased.

"Of course I have!" Draco replied indignantly.

"Really?" Harry asked, dubious.

"Yes."

Harry snorted.

"I've learned sword fighting from the best since my childhood," Draco explained haughtily.

"Well then, I look forward to training with you."

Draco glared at him, because both he and Harry knew Draco never meant to insinuate he himself would be fighting Harry. The idea was almost comical in Harry's mind. He could barely picture the image of Draco holding a sword, let alone using it.

Harry grinned. "Come on then. If I'm going to be training my arse off, I better start now."

"I couldn't agree more," Draco said, a little grouchily.

Together, they ambled down to the Square. Harry wasn't completely sure he wanted to do some more training after his daily morning sessions, but he doubted Draco would get off his back otherwise. Harry succumbed to the notion that he would essentially be living, sleeping and eating at the Square. At least until the day of the Tournament.

When they arrived at the sparring fields, Harry was greeted with the familiar sight of dozens of Slytherin soldiers training under a hot sun. This time, however, there was a new Battle Master Harry had never met before. A neatly trimmed black goatee framed his pursed lips and his sharp black eyes were sharpened to a squint, as if was perpetually trying to look menacing. Harry wondered whether all the Battle Masters were trained to adopt that same expression.

As Harry and Draco entered the field, the goateed man bowed to the Prince, looking surprised to see him. Draco quickly explained that Harry would be training here daily for the next week. The man, whose name was revealed to be Lord Victor, obliged.

"Harry! Draco!"

The two of them spun to see Pansy and Blaise standing on one side of the quadrangle, waving at them and ignoring the stares of the onlooking soldiers. Harry and Draco meandered over to them.

"Hello," Harry greeted

"What are you doing here?" Blaise enquired, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Harry noticed his fellow soldier's face was glistening with sweat, while Draco made a face. "Training so soon already, Blaise?" Harry asked. "We were both here a few hours ago! You better knock it off or you'll make me look bad."

"Yeah, I wish," Blaise muttered with a friendly smirk. "Still plan on whipping your arse one day."

Draco piped up with a suggestion, "Well, why don't you start now?"

"What?" Blaise asked.

"Harry needs to train and you're both here, so have at it! Fight!" Draco exclaimed, looking pleased with himself.

Harry shook his head incredulously at the blond. "You're a right work of art. Sentencing me to a fight already. I've barely just arrived!"

"And time is already running out," Draco reminded him with an innocent look on his face. "You've only got about a week."

Harry saw right past it. "Yeah, and a few seconds delay won't cut too much into my training time," he objected.

"Training for what?" Pansy interjected.

"A Challenge," Harry and Draco answered simultaneously.

"A Challenge?" Pansy echoed, her thin eyebrows arching upward. "That's awfully archaic. Whatever for?"

Draco answered with a small measure of anger, glaring in Harry's direction; which Harry brushed off easily. "He picked up a gauntlet intended for me. And now he's set to fight a Durmstrang giant next week."

"What?" Pansy yelped, eyes wide.

"Blimey ..." Blaise breathed. "An actual Challenge? To the death?"

"Quite," Draco replied dryly. Harry could tell he was already bored with the conversation and wanted the fighting to begin. "Now come on." He impatiently motioned with his hands at Harry and Blaise, before turning, grabbing Pansy's hand and leading her a few steps away to a nearby bench.

Harry watched him amusedly as Draco and Pansy sat down side-by-side comfortably. They look more like they were about to watch a theatre performance than two grown men fighting with the real potential for injury. He shook his head and sighed.

Blaise noticed and laughed quietly. "Annoying little bastard, isn't he?"

Harry snorted. "Don't get me started." He drew his sword and turned to face Blaise. "Now, you said something about an arse whipping?"

"Yeah, yours."

Laughing, Harry twirled his sword, making a clean and controlled loop in the air. Harry grinned broadly, loving the feeling that rushed through him before a fight. "Come on, then. Show your worth."

-mp-

"He picked up a _gauntlet_ for you?" Pansy asked excitedly.

"Shhh!" Draco insisted, looking at Harry's direction anxiously, not wanting his conversation overheard. He needn't have worried. He and Blaise were caught up in their fight. Draco fought hard to keep his eyes off him, inwardly hitting himself for his recent, highly inappropriate, fascination with Harry. "Yes," he confirmed, directing his gaze back to Pansy. "I told him not to."

"So he did it _voluntarily_?" she shrieked, her eyes shooting open as wide as possible, looking as if she had just heard the best news in the world.

"Yes," he said agitatedly. "Now would you please _lower your voice_?"

She looked around apologetically before whispering theatrically. "Oh Draco, how ... how romantic!" she gushed.

"_WHAT?_" he yelped, jerking away from her, before quickly remembering his own admonishes to her. He leant in close to her and hissed. "_Romantic_? Where the _bloody_ hell did that come from?"

"He's risking his life for you!" she exclaimed, looking put out, as if no other explanation could possibly fit.

"He _always_ risks his life for me," Draco explained, affronted. "It's his job."

"Yes but not like this. This is public. He's fighting a Challenge for you—" She gasped.  
>"Oh my goodness!"<p>

"What?"

Pansy looked like she was about to jump off her chair. "Does this mean he's your ... you know?"

"My what?"

"Your ..." she leant in closer "... Champion?"

Draco almost winced as he whispered, "Yes," realising this would only fuel Pansy's idea that Harry's whole act of picking the gauntlet was done out of chivalrous protection. Draco paused as a tiny voice in his head suddenly began to question whether this was actually true. Why else would Harry have picked the gauntlet?

Pansy, meanwhile, was grinning widely. "Now _this_ is something else. Not only is he fighting for you, but he's also your Champion!" she explained unnecessarily, as Draco already knew this very well.

"Can you drop it please?" he beseeched her. "I don't understand why this is so exciting!"

"Not for you, maybe. But for me, it's awfully entertaining!"

Draco rolled his eyes and did a double take when he realised Harry and Blaise were circling each other rapidly, their swords flying through the air in silver streaks. Their duel had turned the heads of other soldiers nearby, but Draco was hardly looking at them. Instead, Draco couldn't help but notice the sweat already formed on Harry's forehead. It really was a hot day, he mused, as he saw droplets of his perspiration fly off him as he twirled this way and that around Blaise, performing some incredibly impressive movements. His sword looked menacing in his hand.

Draco's breath caught when he caught a glimpse of Harry's bright green eyes, narrowed in intense concentration, as if nothing and no one can ever come between him and his fight. A flush of something warm swept through Draco as the memory of Harry's eyes burned in his mind.

"Not exciting, huh?" Pansy's voice cut into his daydream prematurely.

Draco jumped and tore his eyes off Harry. "What?"

"Nothing," she said with a cheeky smile.

"What are you on about? I don't know where you come up with your ideas but they're all silly and highly insulting. So what if Harry picked up a gauntlet? He's supposed to! He's my bodyguard!"

"And that's another thing," Pansy remarked, ignoring everything Draco was saying. "It's _Harry_ now, is it? You're not even trying to cover it up anymore."

Draco hated himself for blushing red and tried to cover it with a dignified look. "Well, he doesn't very well have a surname, does he? He's a commoner. With no family, no means and certainly no life without me."

"How do you know that? You know nothing about him," she reasoned.

"That's not true. I know plenty about him!" he defended himself.

"Really? Who are his parents? Does he have any siblings?"

Draco spent an awful few seconds opening and closing his mouth to no avail, realising he knew nothing of Harry's family life. After spending a month with him, day in day out, it was a little disconcerting.

To his horror, Pansy continued. "His favourite pastime?"

Draco cast a look back at Harry, still wielding his sword expertly. Keeping his gaze on him, he guessed, "Fighting."

"You don't know that."

"How can I not? Look at him! The man was born with a sword in his hand," Draco said, glad that he sounded convincing.

"Alright. Let's assume that's true," she murmured and Draco could tell it was only to humour him. "His favourite food?"

Draco shot her a dead look. "What an asinine question. Who _cares_ what his favourite food is? He's just a nobody. A soldier," he declared irritably, mostly to prove it to himself rather than Pansy. He needed to keep reminding himself of his and Harry's place.

"No, he's your _Champion_," she corrected smugly. "That changes a lot."

"It's just semantics," he muttered, using Harry's line from before, finding it worked well for his flailing argument.

"People won't see it that way. Word will spread, you know. It's not every day something like this happens. Soon, everyone will know him as the Prince's Champion, and people will see your relationship in a different light. It can't be stopped."

Draco slumped and glared at her angrily. "I don't want any of this," he stated. "I didn't plan this."

"Neither did Harry. But he's doing it to save your ..." she trailed off and suddenly looked back out at the Square, her eyes caught on something. "Oh dear merciful Merlin," she whispered.

"What?" asked Draco, following her gaze.

Immediately, his mouth went dry and his jaw went slack.

Harry had decided to take off his shirt.

And suddenly, every single thought in Draco's mind shrivelled into nothing so that all he could do was stare at Harry's impossibly muscled and sweaty back, and suddenly wonder what it would be like to run his fingers over it. Was it as smooth as it looked? Harry shook his head hurriedly to clear his fringe out of his way, creating a chaotic black mess on his head that had Draco itching to bury his fingers into.

"Now I've seen it all. I could die a happy woman," Pansy breathed out, sounding as if she were hyperventilating.

A brief spark of unqualified jealousy tore through Draco at Pansy's shameful ogling of Harry before he realised that she was talking about Blaise. He too had shed his top armour. Funny, Draco hadn't even noticed.

Harry bent over, stretching the material of his black trousers over his backside and causing his muscles to ripple. As he picked up his sword, Draco felt a wave of heat suffuse him at the view before him. He was sure his cheeks were bright red, and dimly wondered how far he'd have to dig back out of the pit he'd put himself in. None of them would ever let him live it down if they saw his glassy eyes and inability to look away.

"You ready to go again?" he heard Harry ask Blaise, twirling his sword in his hand once more with ease and grace.

Blaise nodded briefly, and suddenly, their fight continued as normal.

As if they hadn't just shed half their clothing.

As if fighting without a shirt was usual.

_As if Harry's body wasn't the most perfect thing in the world._

The muscles on Harry's back shifted and contracted with every lunge of his upper body and Draco had to swallow to ensure his tongue was still in his mouth. As Harry and Blaise walked circles around each other, Draco was afforded a good look of Harry's front half, ensuring _both_ his front and back was equally extraordinary. His stomach muscles looked like they wouldn't give way for anything, surrounding his bellybutton in firm ripples. Heavy biceps swelled from each tanned arm, confirming that his upper torso was built for strength and power. Draco wondered how anything can look so mesmerising.

Suddenly, Draco realised just what he was doing. _What is wrong with me?_ he thought desperately in one far corner of his mind that wasn't taken up with the view before him. _Why am I thinking these things? _

Draco sighed miserably and screwed his eyes shut, deciding the less he watched the better. It was possibly the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He slumped his neck and determinately looked away.

It wasn't right. What's more, it was perverted. He was a _man_, for crying out loud, and thinking such thoughts about another man would send him on a one-way trip to the gallows.

Looking about him, he suddenly realised that Harry and Blaise had attracted a larger crowd, a few of whom were some of the young ladies of the court, the daughters of nobles and masters. They appeared to have their eyes trained on Harry. The roar of anger and jealousy from before rose up in Draco again which he fought to suppress, trying to pretend that it didn't matter if anyone looked at Harry, because he certainly didn't have the right to.

But try as he might, he couldn't look away. His heart was racing.

_Damn it, Harry_, he thought internally. He shouldn't look this good!

The duel changed pace as Harry stepped it up a notch and performed a particularly impressive ducking move, dodging Blaise's parry and striking cleverly in the region of his opponent's chest. In a real fight, Blaise would be dead.

The two men broke away with panting laughs, the duel now over. Draco noticed with dismay that the female bystanders persisted to remain and continue to watch Harry in his half-naked glory.

_Oh god, I need to stop thinking these thoughts_, he moaned silently.

Draco was certainly unprepared when Harry suddenly turned to him and asked, "How's that?"

It took a few seconds to rediscover his ability to speak—while Pansy laughed quietly—and his snark to say in an indifferent tone, "You can do better." He was glad the phrase came out in an uncaring and unimpressed manner, especially when Harry's chest and abdominals were in plain, wondrous sight.

But when Harry's shoulders fell at Draco's disapproving remark, Draco couldn't help but feel a small stab of guilt.

In fact, he suddenly felt the insane desire to shout out to Harry that he was the best bloody fighter he had ever seen, just to assure Harry how amazing he truly was.

Of course, no such thing happened.

Draco had a reputation to uphold.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: When his parents try and demean Harry, Draco gets angry and defends his bodyguard. Meanwhile, Remus begins to thaw._


	26. There's Something About Harry

Chapter 25

**The****re's Something about Harry**

Harry's watchful gaze never strayed from the King all throughout dinner that night. He barely heard the conversation being played out among the three royals as he watched Lucius with narrowed eyes and a troubled heart. The memory of the conversation he had overheard in the middle of the night in one of the Castle's darkest corners replayed over and over in his mind. He remembered the King's hushed whispers and the hissed replies of his unknown companion. Who had the King been talking to? And why did he condone the death threats to his own son?

Picking up the gauntlet for Draco had been an easy decision to make at the time, with so many people wanting him dead. Harry couldn't help but wonder whether his Durmstrang opponent was a ploy conducted by the King himself to take Draco's life. If it was, Harry was all the more glad for choosing to accept the Challenge instead of the Prince.

Flicking his eyes toward Draco, Harry saw the Prince frowning angrily. He tuned into the conversation.

"Mother, I beg you, no," Draco was saying, sitting forward in his chair anxiously.

"Draco," she chided, "You must."

"No," Draco said again, "It'll be the death of me."

"Darling, it's not the end of the world. She's your fiancé!"

Harry's eyebrows dipped in irritation at the mention of Astoria Greengrass.

"Yes, and whose fault is that?" Draco shot back.

"Draco!" the Queen gasped. "Your marriage has been arranged since you were born. She is a lovely girl from a lovely family—"

"I wouldn't use _lovely_ to describe her, mother," Draco growled, making Harry's cheeks twitch in the makings of a smile.

The Queen sighed loudly and closed her eyes briefly, as if silently counting the seconds, waiting for her patience to return. Obviously, she had had this argument with her son numerous times before. "Draco, you will meet with her tomorrow, whether you like it or not. You will take her on a horseback ride—apparently, she is quite the equestrian—and you will get to know her. And you will have complete privacy the entire day," his mother recited in as patient a tone as she could muster.

Harry saw Draco swallow and stay quiet for a long moment, trying to think of ways to get out of this one. Eventually, he piped up with, "Harry comes with me."

Harry's eyes bulged and he barely fought to keep his mouth shut.

"Harry, dear?" the Queen asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb behind him. "Harry," he repeated, as if he were talking to a child, "My bodyguard."

The Queen looked a little uncomfortable. She shuffled around in her seat and Harry could tell she was trying hard to stop her eyes from darting to him. "No, Draco, when I said complete privacy, I meant it—"

Draco exploded. "Oh, so when _I_ want complete privacy from all my guards you act like you have to move heaven and hell to make it happen! But when you demand it, it's suddenly the easiest thing in the world! Well _no_! I will _not_ have complete privacy and Harry _will_ be there!"

Harry wasn't sure whether to be elated or distressed.

"But she's your fiancé," the Queen tried.

"And Harry's my guard," Draco finished resolutely, leaving no room for argument.

"Narcissa," the King spoke up in his deathly chilled voice that sent shivers up Harry's spine, "If Draco wants the bodyguard, then he can have it."

_It?_ Harry thought incredulously. _What am I, a toy?_ Harry's eyes narrowed again, wondering what the King was thinking. Whatever it was, Harry knew he always felt calmer when he was with Draco, rather than away from him, just in case Durmstrang had any more surprises planned.

The Queen looked mightily upset. "But," she began. She never finished, breathing out in frustration and shooting Harry a glare, as if all of this was his fault.

Harry found he couldn't care less. At least he wouldn't have to leave Draco alone with that horrible girl. The less time he spent with her, the better. He saw Draco relax in his chair and knew he was thinking the same thing.

But both he and Harry tensed again when the Queen spoke up once more. "I just hope you realise, Draco, that you're going to marry the girl. You're almost twenty-one! You won't be young forever." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "And you won't be Prince forever, either. One day you will be the King, and you will need a Queen—"

"Yes, alright, mother, I _know_," Draco hissed through a clenched jaw, looking down at his food rather than his parents. Harry, for his part, felt an uncomfortable jolt in the pit of his stomach that left him feeling a little nauseous. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't remind me so often."

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "You will escort Astoria to every public function from this day forward, starting with the Tournament next week."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he felt the need to heave.

"_What?_" Draco yelped in shock, staring at his parents with impossibly wide gray eyes. "No! God, no. I don't want her next to me for that! _Especially_ not that! Not when ..." He trailed off and shook his head, casting a glance back at Harry. "If I'm going to watch Harry duel a _giant_—"

"Bodyguard," the Queen exclaimed, interrupting Draco, who looked on in confusion.

"Sorry?"

This time, the King answered in his monotone chilled voice. "He is your _bodyguard_, Draco. There is no need to call him by his first name."

Draco sat back, blinking, while Harry struggled to keep his face neutral.

"Excuse me?" the Prince asked slowly, looking at his parents incredulously. "What does it matter what I call him?"

"He is but a servant to the crown, Draco. It is improper to call him by his given name—"

"Improper? He's risking his life—!"

"Do not interrupt the King!" Lucius hissed irately, his slim grey eyes sharpened to furious slits. Draco's jaw closed slowly as he stared at his father. "Know your place, Draco. You are the Prince of Slytherin; you carry authority and power. Your subjects are beneath you, but I am above you. You will do as I say, no questions asked. That man is no longer _Harry_. He is your servant and your guard, nothing more. If you want to be King one day, you must start acting it now."

Silence descended upon the Dining Hall. Harry didn't move an inch, but kept his gaze burrowing into the back of Draco's bent head, hoping to silently convey his support and appreciation of him. He was grateful for Draco's efforts to defend him, especially at his own expense. He simply hadn't realised how much grief a first name caused, and he now knew why Draco had such a hard time speaking Harry's name in the weeks after they first met.

Suddenly, Draco stood up, his meal not even half-finished.

"Draco?" the Queen asked.

"Sit back down," the King ordered. "Dinner is not over,"

But without a word, Draco marched straight to the door and slammed them open. Harry followed immediately, knowing they were both probably in big trouble.

They walked directly to Draco's chambers and didn't speak until they were both inside. Harry shut the door behind him and watched Draco pace his sitting room anxiously, knowing he would explode soon enough.

Draco lasted all of five seconds.

"WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?" he yelled loudly to the room, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, and his eyes furiously determined. "How _dare_ they order me around like that? Do they think I'm a child? I can do whatever the hell I want! I'm the bloody _Prince_ of this bloody Empire! I've got rights! I've got authority! I'm a bloody _adult_! I can call someone whatever I bloody well want to call them!"

He stopped and turned to face Harry, his normally pale face, now flushed with hot anger.

"HARRY!" he exclaimed suddenly.

Harry jumped, startled. Was he supposed to do something?

"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry! There, I said it. Now what?" Draco cried out to no one. "What is so bloody wrong with your name?"

He was silent for a long while, so Harry decided to reply, "Er ... nothing?"

"Exactly! It's just a name! It doesn't mean anything!"

Harry couldn't help the small prick of disappointment deflate his energy a little. _It didn't mean anything? At all?_

"Sod them, I'm going to call you Harry if I want," Draco decided resolutely. "See if I care. I don't. And what's more, I am _not_ going to take that stupid, ugly, _whore_ with me to your duels. There is no way I am going to sit beside her the whole time, listening to her yack on about Merlin-knows-what, when I'm going to be bloody anxious, praying you don't get yourself killed!"

Harry's energies lifted again, finding he quite liked Draco's determination and worry toward him.

"Well with that kind of support, I'm sure I won't lose," Harry said with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Draco looked at him and relaxed a little. "You better not, or I swear I'll kill you."

Harry laughed. "That'll be somewhat unnecessary, don't you think?"

"If you die, I'll bring you back to life and kill you all over again for losing," Draco explained.

"Ah yes. That makes so much more sense now," Harry joked.

Draco smiled tiredly but genuinely at him, which made Harry feel like the temperature in the room had suddenly risen. It was such a rare sight to see Draco smile that Harry decided to savour it as best he could and burn it to his memory.

Sighing loudly, Draco walked over to his bed and flopped down onto it. "Sometimes, being royal sucks."

Harry snorted. "Only sometimes?"

"Shut up," Draco said with no real insult, not bothering to look up at Harry. "The arranged marriage part of it does," he elaborated with his face squashed against his bedspread.

"Is there no way out of it?"

Draco laughed humourlessly. "Yeah. Abdicate my claim to the throne."

"Can you even do that?" Harry asked.

"Not really. It happened once before, apparently. Didn't turn out well for him," Draco said with a shrug as he sat up.

"Who was it?"

"Don't know."

Harry squinted unsurely. "But shouldn't he be your great, great grandfather or something."

"No." Draco shot him a funny look. "My family's not in the line of Slytherin, you know. My father was forced to take the Throne in troubled times. I have no idea who had it before him because apparently those were dark days, and I was never told. All I know is that whoever had the throne before my Father was not my ancestor, but chose to relinquish the throne."

A slow smirk formed on Harry's face as he stared at Draco curiously.

"What?" Draco asked.

"So you're not actually royalty," Harry clarified.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're not. You just said that your father was forced to take the throne," Harry restated. "Ha! You don't have a drop of royal blood in you!"

"I do too!" Draco replied, affronted. "I'm the Prince!"

"You're a sham prince," Harry corrected.

"Like you can speak," Draco rounded on Harry with a superior look. "You're as common as they come. I bet you hadn't stepped foot in a castle before this one."

"You're right, I hadn't. But at least I'm not in denial." Harry smiled, knowing he was nerving his companion. "All this time and I had no idea I'm looking after a bloke as ordinary as the next man."

"I am _not_ ordinary," Draco snapped. "Tell yourself whatever you want, but at the end of the day, I am royalty. And besides, if I weren't, how would you feel knowing you had picked up the gauntlet for a simple ordinary man?"

Harry stepped closer to Draco with a smile. "I didn't pick up the gauntlet for the Prince. I picked it up for _Draco_. Royalty or not, you're still you inside," he said, smirking into Draco's grey eyes, watching them soften a fraction. Draco's eyes always spoke volumes about his emotions if you looked hard enough.

He realised that staring at Draco for a prolonged period of time was becoming almost normal for him. There was almost a magnetic attraction between them that forbade Harry from trying to look elsewhere. He felt unaccountably connected to him.

Draco shuffled on his blankets awkwardly after a sustained silence, tearing his silver gaze away. He smirked. "Yes well, royalty or not, I'm still better than you."

Harry grinned and joked, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

-mp-

Ghostly moonlight illuminated his cell with a death-like pallor, but Remus was thankful it would be another month before he had to endure his transformation again. He had known he was a werewolf since a very young age, before he could remember, but all his life, he was unable to explain it. It was unheard of, a werewolf. It made no sense. He knew of no other person who had his condition, and he could count on one hand the number of people who knew of his true nature.

One of those people was right next to him; separated by a single brick wall.

He hadn't made an effort to speak to Sirius in the day since his transformation, although the other man had tried. Remus had kept tight-lipped. He didn't know what to do or say. It was like talking to a memory he had all but forgotten; like unwrapping a bandage to find a wound still bloody and fresh. He couldn't stop all the emotions raging inside him like a flood. He couldn't forget the love he once had; but he also couldn't forget the horror of James' and Lily's murders.

"Talk to me."

It was a near-silent plea, but Remus heard it loud and clear. Valiantly, he tried to disregard it and kept his eyes frozen on the moon covered in shredded grey clouds.

"Don't ignore me," Sirius whispered, "please."  
>Swallowing, Remus felt a shiver of emotion rush through him. It was getting harder and harder to avoid Sirius. Deep within him, his heart was banging on his chest, begging to be overwhelmed with the feelings Sirius had wrought on him all those years ago.<p>

"Remus ... I'm not who you think I am."

Remus tore his eyes off the moon and looked at the small hole in the wall where he knew Sirius was waiting on the other side. He frowned and was almost tempted to reply with a question. He held in his voice in the last second.

"I'm not a murderer."

That did it. Suddenly, Remus couldn't be silent. He couldn't sit back and let Sirius demean his best friends' deaths.

"You killed James. And Lily," he snapped.

"I would never," Sirius replied with all the surety he could muster. "I could never kill them. You know me, Remus."

"Do I?" Remus shot back. "I thought I did. I thought I knew you better than anyone in the world. Obviously not."

"No, Remus, listen to me, it's all a mistake," Sirius spoke with a sense of urgency in his voice, like everything depended on whether Remus believed him. "You all think I killed James and Lily, but I didn't. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Remus snorted with a dead laugh. He couldn't believe Sirius' plea. "And that dagger you were holding over Harry in his crib, that was because you were teaching him how to fight, was it," he drawled sardonically.

Sirius gasped suddenly and was silent for a long moment. Remus was about to ask him if he was still listening, when Sirius breathed, "Harry."

Even through a brick wall, Remus could almost physically feel every one of Sirius' emotions rush through him at the mention of his godson's name.

"Is he ... still alive?" Sirius asked tentatively, almost hesitant to find out.

"... Yes," Remus replied softly. But as soon as he said the one word, he bit his tongue. How did he know Harry was still alive? The last time he had seen Harry, he was half-dead in a stinking old wagon heading for the Empire. That had been a month ago now. For all Remus knew, Harry had been dead for four weeks. He screwed his eyes shut forcefully and prayed to the fates that Harry was alive and well, wherever he may be.

"He'd be a man now," he heard Sirius say, before breathing out a long breath. "A man," he repeated, as if unable to believe the tiny baby he once knew was now probably taller and stronger than he. "What's he like, Remus?"

Despite himself, a proud smile crept upon Remus' face. It did every time he thought about the person Harry had become. He was proud of his unofficial godson. "He looks just like James. Same hair, same height, same courage ... and I daresay, the same stubborn disregard for rules."

He heard Sirius chuckle softly.

"Green eyes though," Remus added, waiting for Sirius to reply with an acknowledging statement. They both knew who the mention of green eyes referred to.

"... Lily," Sirius breathed.

"Yes." Remus stared at the hole that linked their cells and wondered what Sirius must be thinking. Every mention Remus had made of Harry had been to compare him to his parents. He wondered if Sirius was overwhelmed with guilt and grief. Eventually, Remus asked in a soft voice, "How could you kill her?"

"No!" Sirius replied sharply and desperately. "It wasn't me, I swear—"

"Then who, Sirius? Who else? You were the only one there!"

"I don't know who," Sirius answered. "There was someone there just before I got to the Hollow that night. James was already dead on the first floor, so I rushed up to Harry, sword in hand. I entered his room and saw Lily dead too. The window was open; the murderer had escaped through there. I would have followed, but Harry was screaming. I went to his crib ... and that's when people came in and saw me." Remus heard Sirius' voice tremble with emotion. "I looked the part, I know I did. James and Lily dead, Harry screaming with a wound of his forehead, and me with a sword. I know why everyone thinks I'm the murderer. But I'm not, Remus. My own godson ... How can anyone try to kill his own godson? I only wanted to protect him, and I would do anything to have James and Lily back."

Remus stayed quiet, breathing in the stale air of his cell, motionless. He was afraid that if he moved, he would miss something crucial. He almost despised the part of him that believed Sirius.

"Trust me, Remus. I'm not a monster."

"How can I trust you? I barely know you anymore."

"It's still me. I'm the same man you knew twenty years ago."

Remus bit his lip and felt the heat of tears develop behind his eyes. "This isn't fair," he whispered. "You can't do this to me, Sirius. It took me so long to accept what you had done; that you had betrayed me—"

"I swear on James' and Lily's graves that I _never_ betrayed you, Remus, and I never will."

Tears built up in Remus' eyes and one slithered down his face, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'll spend the rest of my life trying to prove my innocence to you if I have to, just to have you tell me that you believe me. Having you trust me again would be ... everything."

Was it horrible that Remus was deeply compelled to believe him? Would he be spitting on James' and Lily's graves by admitting that he thought Sirius was telling the truth? Remus felt guilt pile up within him.

"I—I want to trust you," Remus said after a long bout of silence, his voice shaking with emotion, "but I'm not sure I can."

"What can I do, Remus? Tell me and I'll do it. Ask me anything and I'll answer you honestly."

"Is there anyone else who knows your side of the story? Is there anyone who can vouch for your innocence?"

"There might be ... but he's probably dead," Sirius answered.

"Who?"

"Dumbledore."

"What?" Remus gasped, sitting up straight and staring at the hole in the wall in shock. "Albus? He knows the truth?"

"I looked through that open window, just to see if I can catch a glimpse of the murderer. I saw a man dressed all in black run into the forest. But then I saw someone follow him; someone who I think was Dumbledore, and he seemed to be carrying some form of weapon. It was small. A dagger, maybe. And I thought, why else would Dumbledore chase after a man in the middle of the night, other than knowing his crime? And besides, the Professor always had a way of knowing things no one else did."

"Why didn't he tell me? He's never said anything before. I ... I didn't even know if you were still alive. Why wouldn't he tell me? Me, of all people."

Sirius continued. "When they sentenced me to spend the rest of my days here, Dumbledore was there. Just before they took me away, he looked into my eyes and I swore he knew the truth. I had hoped he would tell people. Tell you. That I was innocent."

Remus shook his head, even though he knew Sirius couldn't see him. "He never did." Sparks of anger ignited in his chest towards the Professor. Of all people, Remus had a right to know. He looked back at the hole in Sirius' direction. "And he can vouch for you?"

"If he did," Sirius said, "would you believe me?"

Remus paused and swallowed. "I might."

He heard Sirius sigh. "I doubt we'll ever have the chance though. We're stuck here. I had accepted a long time ago that this cell will one day be my grave. I was just biding my time. But now you're here, I have this stupid, silly hope that I'll get out."

"I have that hope too," Remus admitted. "I don't want to die here." He was too afraid to say that he didn't want to die without seeing Sirius' face properly once more.

"Neither do I. But who's going to get us out?"

Remus stopped in thought and let a tired smile form on his face. "Harry?"

"Harry?" Sirius echoed in confusion.

Remus smirked. "Did I tell you that he's quite the expert swordsman?"

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Harry and Draco, F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G. _


	27. Tongue Tied Fools

Chapter 26

**Tongue-Tied Fools**

"You should be at training," Draco told Harry the next morning when he had opened the door and seen his bodyguard standing dutifully outside his chambers. He tried hard to ignore the thought in his head that hold him Harry was looking quite nice in his chainmail covered tunic.

_Stop it, Draco, _he told himself._ Harry always wears that!_

It was true. Draco rarely saw Harry in anything _but_ his chain male, but today, as a result of the unbearably warm weather they were having, both Harry's tunic and chainmail were sleeveless, showcasing his swollen biceps.

Draco averted his eyes when he felt his face heat up.

"I'm supposed to be with you," Harry corrected, a little confused. "It's my job."

"But your Tournament is in less than a week," Draco objected, feeling a familiar fear creep up within him at the thought of Harry facing off against the giant from Durmstrang. "You should spend every moment training. Forget me." He dropped his shoulder. "Besides, I'm doomed to spend my day with Astoria."

Harry shot him a curious look, his green eyes twinkling. "Wasn't it you who went against your own parents to ensure I went with you to meet her?"

Draco held in a wince. "I was joking," he fibbed. "I don't want you with me."

Harry grinned evilly. "What? Planning on spending a lovely romantic afternoon picnic for just the two of you?"

Making a disgusted face, Draco snapped, "Don't be repulsive. Nothing about today can be described as remotely romantic."

Harry let out a laugh, making Draco want to hit him. Deciding it would be amusing, he did; a closed-fist punch on his bare upper arm.

"Oi!" Harry exclaimed, still chuckling happily. "Stop hitting me!"

Draco couldn't help the smile develop on his face. "You're to blame. Going on about romantic afternoons with the world's most undesirable woman. It's enough to make me heave."

Harry threw his head back and laughed. "You make her sound like an ogre."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "You disagree?"

"Ogre or not, one day she'll be your—"

"Don't say it!" Draco interrupted madly. "Don't you _dare_ say it! I get enough from my parents; I don't need it from you too!"

Harry grinned. "—wife."

Eyebrows drawn together in anger, Draco drew his arm back and made to hit Harry again. But this time, Harry caught his arm inches from contact to his chest, and held on tightly to Draco's wrist.

"Stop _hitting_ me," Harry repeated amusedly, keeping his grip firm, while Draco struggled to get his arm out of Harry's hold.

He glared at Harry. "Well stop mentioning Astoria," he huffed back irately. "And let go of my arm!"

"Only if you promise to never hit me again," Harry conditioned, peering closely to Draco's face. The result left their face in rather close proximity and Draco was able to make out individual strands of Harry's dark eyebrows above his impossibly green eyes. He also detected a smell which had a distinctly _Harry_ feel to it, making Draco wonder when he discovered Harry had a smell.

Swallowing to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, Draco said, "Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You're … fun to hit," Draco reasoned somewhat childishly; but he couldn't think entirely straight at this moment. He blinked to clear his head. "Besides, you need the toughening up," he lied wildly.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, his voice suddenly deeper. Subconsciously, Harry flexed the arm holding Draco's wrist captive.

Draco swallowed again, noticing the bicep bulge significantly, and watching while Harry's green eyes lit up from within. "It's true," he murmured, knowing it to be a complete and utter lie. _Think of something witty to say!_ "What; can't take a few hits every once in a while?" Draco felt like hitting himself.

"I'd prefer not to get them from you," Harry replied, his voice doing funny things to Draco's stomach.

"Because I'm so strong?" Draco tried to joke.

Harry snorted. "Hardly." To prove his point, he shuffled his fingers a little to make a point of the fact that Draco had yet to escape Harry's grip.

A little offended, Draco increased his struggles, shaking his imprisoned arm, trying to loosen it from Harry. When that didn't work out, Draco used his free arm and grasp at Harry's clenched fingers in an effort to pry them off his wrist.

This too didn't work. Harry's hand didn't budge. But the touch of his skin was ridiculously warm.

"Akh!" Draco exclaimed angrily, and a little weakly. "Let go of me, you brute!" He then swung his free hand around and hit Harry hard on his left shoulder. When Harry merely smiled in that maddening way of his, Draco repeatedly struck Harry's shoulder, trying to ignore the contact he was making his Harry's bare skin.

"You know, hitting me is not the easiest way to get out of your predicament," Harry mused calmly, looking cheeky as he watched Draco's efforts. "It's what got you into this mess in the first place."

Draco, realising Harry was right, stopped struggling and held still, trying to train his face into an irritated glare. What resulted was a feeble look that wouldn't threaten a fly. His eyes met Harry's. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Promise to not hit me," Harry stated, a hint of playful mischief in his voice.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"And let me come with you to your meeting with Astoria," Harry added as an afterthought. "Even though I was going to anyway," he murmured, "But it'll be easier if you agree with me."

Draco couldn't stop the tiny part of him that leapt in joy at Harry's mutters, and the relief he felt when he realised he wasn't going to be alone with Astoria. He sighed to make a show of it. "Fine."

"Promise …" Harry said, pulling Draco's arm in so that Draco himself moved in closer to Harry; their faces only inches apart.

Trying to keep a menacing glare on his face was difficult when Harry was this close and all Draco wanted to do was stare at his eyes. He dearly wished they weren't so close to each other, but Harry had a propensity to get nearer to him. But Draco couldn't find it in him to mind.

As difficult as it way to put on a petulant voice considering the circumstances, Draco managed an impatient whine, "I promise not to hit you again."

"And...?" Harry prompted, his lips twitching upward.

"_And_ ... I'll let you come with me today."

Harry smiled, and it was a genuine one; one that made Draco's stomach perform a flip. He tried once more to pull his hand free, if only to escape Harry's soul-searching gaze and his inappropriately captivating smile. His hand slipped free of Harry's grip and for a tiny inexplicable moment, Draco wished he could still feel the heat of Harry's palm on his wrist.

Now that they were separated, Draco stepped back, severing the moment. He rubbed his wrist absent-mindedly.

"I'm not meeting her until lunch. So you can spend the next few hours training," Draco announced.

"You're coming with me, right?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Draco blurted, and immediately wished he could take back his excited tone.

Harry's smile widened. "Good," he said. "That way I can train and look after you at the same time."

Draco felt something in him deflate that Harry only wanted him there so that he could continue his duty, and not because he simply wanted Draco to be with him.

He was just struggling to push that rejected feeling aside when he heard Harry say, "And plus, when you're not a total prat, you're somewhat fun to be around."

Draco's heart lifted.

-mp-

This time, Harry attracted a bigger crowd.

Up to two dozen soldiers were surrounding him, watching as he picked duels with men at random and bested each one. They were all looking for the chance to beat him, but so far, no one had succeeded.

To Draco's complete dismay, the crowd also consisted of a significant number of young ladies of the court, the daughters of nobles, all dressed in extravagant gowns with even more extravagant hairstyles, hoping to attract the attention of this mysterious foreign swordsman. Draco sneered in their direction as he saw one of them giggling and pointing shamelessly at Harry's figure, and had the insane desire to rip her hair out.

Irritated with the girls, Draco returned his attention back to Harry and watched in awe as his bodyguard successfully put another man to shame, knocking his sword out of his hand. Harry was absolutely drenched in sweat, but he showed no sign of stopping and Draco was certainly not about to tell him to pause for a water break. From his perch on a nearby bench, Draco had an uninterrupted view of Harry and he was rather enjoying it.

Another opponent stepped into the middle of the circle to challenge Harry, who didn't even blink at the new duel before him and dived headfirst into the battle; his sword swinging threateningly and with every promise of victory.

This one didn't last long and soon, the man was on the floor, looking straight up Harry's sword to its wielder, who shot him a smug look. Draco, too, couldn't help but smirk.

Damn, but Harry was good.

"Enough!" Harry called out after a solid hour-bout of fighting. "If I don't get water now, I might pass out."

Draco was almost disgusted with himself at the speed in which he got up and rushed to get Harry a bucket of water. By the time he reached Harry, the circle of soldiers around him had mostly dispersed, returning to their own training regimes. Draco took it upon himself to pass Harry a cup of water, knowing the onlooking females were probably green with envy at his position so close to the dashing warrior.

Draco paused and shook his head, trying to rid himself of such stupid thoughts.

"Thanks, Draco," Harry said gratefully, swallowing half the cup's contents in one big gulp and pouring the rest out over his head.

Draco, who was about to say _you're welcome_, was left speechless, watching as water trailed off Harry's hair to his face and down his chest and arms, slicing clear paths through the grime and dust on his skin. Droplets of it remained in his hair. Draco coughed.

Harry expelled a large breath. "Phew, I was thirsty," he remarked, starting to swing his arm about his shoulder to loosen the joint and relax his muscles.

Again, Draco could only watch as his upper arm muscles flexed and constricted under his taut and dirt-covered skin. He forced himself to speak, to rescue himself from his stupor.

_Say something smart_, he sternly ordered himself. "Well of course it's only to be expected as the heat from the sun is entirely unobstructed, which causes your skin to overheat and become dehydrated, and, you know, you're breathing much more, thereby leaving your mouth parched and lacking the saliva you need to …" Draco slowed his speech, noticing Harry's look. God, what was he_ saying?_ "… or so science says," he mumbled pathetically, wishing Harry would miraculously forget everything he had just said. "I was just …"

Harry's stupid mouth started to smile.

But before he could say anything, Draco jumped in with, "Oh shut up, Harry."

Harry's smile expanded. But he said nothing.

Draco swallowed in a panicked state. "I know what you're thinking."

Harry smirked. "Oh, do tell; what am I thinking?"

The look in Harry's eyes was alight with amusement, as if he was just toying with Draco. Draco stammered, "That … that _your_ intelligence pales woefully against mine."

_Bloody hell,_ _SHUT UP, Draco!_ he screamed to himself.

Harry let out a low chuckle. "You're absolutely right, that's exactly what I was thinking," he joked.

Draco continued, despite feeling the need to sew his mouth shut. "I suppose it's expected from an uneducated peasant like yourself." He meant it to be playful, but he hated the haughtiness in his voice.

To his relief, Harry laughed. "You are something else, Draco Malfoy. Is that all you think of me?"

_No!_ "Of course," Draco said with a smirk.

Harry's face took on a sarcastically knowing look. "Tell me, O Prince of Slytherin, how can you agree to be represented in the Tournament by such a lowly peasant? Surely a better warrior, of nobler blood, could be found."

"I'm sure there could. But you see, some stupid, impulsive soldier picked up the gauntlet without permission." Draco couldn't help but smile a little.

Harry smiled. "You're right, that _is_ stupid."

"I know!"

"Who would do such a thing?" he joked.

"No one with a passable level of intelligence, obviously."

"Perhaps he had good motives," Harry provided.

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps he just wanted to be absolutely certain that he was doing everything he could to keep the Prince safe."

Somewhere in their banter, things had turned serious. Draco wasn't sure when that happened.

Draco wet his lips. His throat felt dry. "He's still a fool."

Harry's smile was soft and warm. So were his eyes. "That, I can agree with."

A contemplative and somewhat troubling look crossed Harry's face, forcing his eyebrows downward. Draco wondered if he had said something wrong.

"What is it?" he asked his bodyguard.

"You know when you told me I shouldn't come with you and Astoria this afternoon, and I should be training instead?"

"Yes," Draco replied, wondering what had made Harry suddenly remember this.

"It's got me thinking. What if I, for one reason or another, need to leave you alone for a period of time? Who's going to look after you then?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I'm not always around to protect you? I mean, what if I get killed this Saturday—"

"Harry—" Draco started to admonish, not liking where this was going.

"No, I'm serious. It seems unrealistic that I'm with you every second of every day. Sometimes, you're going to be alone."

"And?"

"You need to know how to defend yourself," Harry said, staring at Draco's face with uneasy eyes. Draco could tell that this was truly bothering him.

"I'll be fine—"

"No, you won't be. The one time I wasn't with you, you were cornered in a courtyard by that Durmstrang spy. You could have died."

"But I didn't."

"Because I was there," Harry reminded him. Then he shook his head, as if warding off unwanted thoughts of Draco dying at the hands of yet another enemy spy. "You need to be able to defend yourself."

"I can," Draco said, wincing inwardly, knowing what he was saying wasn't entirely true. "I've been taught how to fight from a young age."

"Don't lie to me," Harry said softly. "Don't lie to ease my conscious. You might have been taught how to fight when you were a child, but everything I know about you suggests that you haven't picked up a sword for years."

Draco blinked at his correct observations and took a moment to decide how to respond. In the end, he answered honestly. "I have no desire to."

"And that could kill you," Harry murmured, looking earnestly into Draco's face. "Let me teach you."

"Harry—"

"Please, Draco. Do it for me; for my sanity's sake. I'd feel better knowing that if I'm not around, you'll still be able to defend yourself."

Deep inside him, Draco felt something tug at his stomach: an unexpected warmth. That Harry was profoundly troubled by Draco's apparent inability to defend himself, meant the bodyguard had a true desire and yearning to keep Draco alive. Somewhere in the past few weeks, Harry had come to care about him. And he was willing to do anything to minimise any risk that could take Draco's life.

He swallowed a large lump in his throat; his gaze once more held captive by Harry's eyes and the expression of worry on his face. Merlin help him, but Draco was convinced he had never felt such a connection to anymore before.

"I'll do it," Draco said eventually. Visible relief washed over Harry's face and a smile tugged his mouth upward. But now it was Draco's turn to adopt a worried expression. "Just make sure," he added, "you do everything you can to keep _yourself_ alive. Dying on Saturday is _not_ an option."

Harry's grin grew. "Whatever you say," he said.

-mp-

Harry had to forcibly restrain himself from pulling Astoria Greengrass off Draco. Gripping his fist and clenching his jaw, it was a mighty effort to watch how she draped herself all over him and cooed in his ear. Didn't she realise Draco despised her? Obviously not. The girl was delusional. The only time she looked away from Draco was to send Harry angry looks for his intrusion on their private afternoon together. This made Harry all the more glad he had decided to come.

Draco's attempts at keeping his distance from her spoke volumes to Harry. Clearly, this was the last place he wanted to be, and Harry felt incredibly sorry for him.

At one stage, Astoria had the nerve to drag her finger along Draco's jaw lightly and pull his face towards hers to plant a daring kiss on his mouth.

Harry had seen red. If it wasn't for Draco pushing away a moment later, sputtering and cursing, Harry would probably have killed her. His hand had already grasped the hilt of his sword.

He was given a brief respite from all his angry thoughts when the couple-to-be had ventured to a large field that overlooked the tree-line of the Dark Forest. He instantly forgot about Astoria then as the memory of the mysterious voice in the Forest resurfaced in his mind once more, renewing his confusion. He had yet to discover the meaning behind that strange occurrence.

Of course, when he overheard Astoria encourage Draco to take off his shirt to alleviate the heat felt from the searing sun, Harry was forced to return his attention back to the couple. He clenched his teeth once more and shot the girl furious looks. How dare she!

After an eternity, Draco escorted her back to her parents' house and they were finally rid of her.

"Murder me, Harry," Draco murmured on the way back to his chambers. "I can't do it. I can't marry her. She completely unbearable."

Unable to offer a solution out, Harry simply gave him a sympathetic look, silently wishing to do something—_anything_—to stop Draco from marrying that wench.

Much later that night, after dinner and the evening's social events, Draco retired to his chambers, exhausted by the day's activities and ready to sleep.

For his part, Harry was still very much awake. He knew he should rest to regain energy for tomorrow's training, but as Harry sat on the edge of his bed, his mind was fully alert and not at all weary.

Sighing loudly, he stood up and began to pace, trying to determine why he wasn't tired. In the quiet of his room, he was once again reminded of the mysterious Forest voice that knew his name. He frowned and paused in his step, suddenly overcome with incessant curiosity.

Too many strange things had been happening lately; they must have been related in some way. First the Dark Forest, then the incident with the King in the dead of the night, conversing and striking deals with an unknown person.

What's more, the memory of what Remus and Dumbledore had said on the night he was captured put his heart in a completely troubled state.

_"The longer this matter goes on, the closer Harry gets to the truth about his connection to Slytherin,"_ Remus had said.

_"Harry's lineage stretches much further than Slytherin. His ancestors mark the pages of ancient history,"_ Albus had replied.

Something wasn't right. Too many things had been kept a secret.

And Harry was determined to set things straight.

Grabbing his sword belt and a coat, Harry silently crept out his room, and down through the Castle, until he emerged under the clear night sky; the stars were twinkling in the same way Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he knew something Harry didn't.

He turned and walked toward the Forest. If he wanted answers, that was where he needed to start looking.

Swallowing his fear, Harry strode with single-minded intent. Faster than he would have liked, he found himself standing at the edge of the impossibly dark trees that loomed over him like an army of impenetrable force.

He plunged into the darkness, in the same area where he had heard the voice from before. He couldn't see more than two metres before him. The Forest was as black as pitch; there was an almost tangible thickness about Harry that had his heart rate accelerate. Eerie noises from indiscernible creatures called out in the dark, making Harry feel like the only human for many kilometres. He had heard tales since his infancy of the horrors of the Dark Forest, of werewolves and centaurs, but of course, these were only myths. Such things of fantastical origins didn't exist. Harry tried to calm his heart by telling himself it was probably only foxes and deer.

The animal noises weren't nearly as frightening as the absolute stillness of the trees. There was no breeze; the trees did not sway. Everything seemed at utter peace, in a direct paradox to the state of Harry's nerves.

After a minute, Harry wondered whether or not he should call out to the voice, but then chided himself for his lunacy. Who in their right mind would call out to a mysterious voice that had no discernable person, in the Dark Forest in the middle of the night?

Just as he was deciding he should return to the Castle, he heard it.

"... _Harry Potter_ ..."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose in chilled fear. Even expecting it, it was no easier to listen to. He spun on the spot, trying to determine where the voice was coming from.

"Show yourself!" he called out, clutching his sword in his hand, ready for anything. His voice didn't echo, seeming to absorb directly into the thick humidity of the Forest.

"_You have come to fulfil your destiny ..."_

Harry frowned, recalling this was similar to what the voice had said last time. What did it mean?

"I don't understand!"

This time, the voice answered almost immediately: "_Then you are not ready_."

"For what?" Harry answered, already irritated with the course of the conversation and the feeling that he was much smaller than his unknown communicator. Something about this whole situation felt larger than anything he expected.

_"You are the true Heir ... Your ancestors precede you for millennia ..."_

Harry paused. Dumbledore had said something of the effect too; that Harry's lineage stretched as far as the pages of history. But what did this all mean?

"Who are they, my ancestors?" Harry asked.

_ "You descend from a line of Kings."_

Harry almost dropped his sword and spun around on the spot wildly, his eyes wide and searching. Again, the thought that this was all one big joke crossed his mind. There must have been some mistake. Who was he? No one. A soldier. A mere Hufflepuff soldier with a commoner's life, whose parents died when he was little.

"You're wrong," he said after a while, only because it was the only thing that made sense.

_"You are the Heir of Godric. The Sword will answer only to you, when you are ready ..."_

Harry's mind whirled in complete confusion. "Ready for what?"

_"To reclaim your Kingdom."_

"What Kingdom?"

Silence met him and Harry realised he was almost panting for breath. He was beginning to think that the voice would not answer his question, when it spoke one final word that made Harry's blood run cold.

"... _Gryffindor_ ..."

Harry stopped.

That name.

He had never heard it before, but for some reason, he knew it. Like it was the answer to every question and the reason for every secret.

Harry shivered and tried to call out to the voice once more but did not get a response. Deciding the conversation was over, Harry found his way back out of the Forest and headed for the Castle.

With every step and breath he took, the weight of the world seemed to rest upon him. He had thought going into the Forest would clear things up. But it only left him even more confused.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that Albus Dumbledore knew a lot more than he had ever let on. Harry didn't know how or when, but God help him, he would find a way back to the Professor and demand answers.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Sirius finally tells Remus the whole truth about Harry and James; while Harry makes good on his promise to teach Draco how to sword-fight, which includes the inevitable Draco-accidentally-falls-on-Harry conundrum. Oh, the joys of fanfiction._


	28. Sword Fighting 101

_A/N: Guess what?__? I got early access into Pottermore! And I'm sorted in Ravenclaw! It's so fascinating and all the new information makes me bow to JK's sheer brilliance. She is absolutely incredible. I now feel a little ill-qualified to be writing even a fanfiction based on her world!_

_And now for something completely different__, I need to ask you all a question regarding this story. Should the rating remain a T? Or be upgraded to M (hint, hint)? Let me know if you have an opinion!_

-mp-

Chapter 27

**Sword-Fighting 101**

Remus leant against the cold brick wall, resting his head back with his eyes closed. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel Sirius on the other side of the wall.

He was probably asleep now, as Remus should be. The sun hadn't risen yet, but Remus' thoughts kept him awake.

It was undeniable, Remus mused, that he was starting to feel something for Sirius again. Spending day after day with nothing to do but talk with him caused emotions to stir within him he had not felt for twenty years. Sirius didn't know it, but Remus often peered through the small hole when he knew Sirius was asleep, just to look at him. His appearance hadn't changed much. Sure, he had a beard—so did Remus—and he was wearing rags for clothes, but Remus could recognise the same face from his youth that was so full of life and love. Remus was sure if he were to look into Sirius' eyes, he would be reminded strongly of their past relationship. Sirius' eyes had always been Remus' favourite bit about him, and he was somewhat glad Sirius was always asleep when Remus peeked at him. Otherwise, Remus didn't know what sort of feeling would overwhelm him.

"Awake?" Sirius asked with a gravelly voice, fresh from sleep.

"Yes," Remus answered, automatically feeling shivers dance down his spine at the sound of his voice.

He heard Sirius chuckle softly. "You were always an early riser."

Remus went rigid. Sirius kept _doing_ that. He would often casually slip in a sentence or two about their lives together, as if deliberately trying to remind Remus of their past relationship. Against his wiser judgement, Remus said, "Someone had to be."

"Why's that?" There was a smile in his voice.

"You would sleep through anything," Remus replied. Then he bit his lip. _Stop it, Remus, stop talking like this. Forget it._

"And you'd always get angry with me."

Remus smiled a little. "I still would, you know. Or maybe I'll just throw more buckets of water over your head." _Oh dear, now I'm flirting with him. Shut up, Remus._

Sirius' laugh was louder this time. "I remember that," he remarked. "Or the time you set Harry crawling all over me to wake me up."

Remus' smile died a little at the mention of Harry. Yes, he remembered that too—the time Remus had grown so frustrated with Sirius' ability to sleep through anything, he allowed the tiny Harry to crawl and drool all over his sleeping godfather, hoping the baby would wake him.

Merlin, he missed Harry. Remus sighed, hoping he was still alive, and wondering if he was still in Slytherin.

Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He remembered that James and Sirius had both spent the entire first half of their lives in the Empire. Perhaps, Sirius could somehow shed some light.

"Sirius," he began.

"Yes?" came the answer. Remus could tell he was a little surprised. This was the first time Remus had initiated conversation.

"You grew up in Slytherin, yes?"

Sirius hesitated. "Yeah ..." he said slowly. "Why ask?"

"Harry's there now."

Sirius gasped. "What? Why?"

Remus hesitated to answer, but he knew he had already said too much to back out now. He needed to tell Sirius. "He and I were both kidnapped. We were put into an old wooden wagon—Harry had been unconscious at the time—but I overheard the drivers say they were required to take Harry to Slytherin. Before we got to the Empire, though, I was taken out and brought here. I assume Harry's in Slytherin now."

"But why?"

"I don't know," Remus answered truthfully. He had asked himself this question a thousand times before, and he was still none the wiser. "I don't even know if he's still alive."

Sirius was quiet for a long moment. Just as Remus was beginning to think perhaps he had fallen asleep again, Sirius muttered, "I'd be surprised if he were."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, I assume, still doesn't know his father used to be the Prince. But if you're right and he's in the Slytherin now ..." he trailed off. "All it would take is one person recognising his face, and that's it. They'd kill him."

"And Harry wouldn't even know why," Remus added with a whisper. Then he expelled a loud breath. "I still find it hard to believe the boy who is like my own son is the bloody Heir of the Empire he hates."

Sirius was silent for a long pregnant moment and when he next spoke, his voice was hesitant. "Actually ..." he began.

Inexplicably, Remus felt fear creep onto him. "What?" he asked ominously, dreading what else Sirius had to say.

Sirius let out a frustrated growl. "We should probably be face-to-face for this," he complained.

"For what?"

"For ..." Sirius trailed off. "Remus, there's more to the truth about Harry."

Remus felt his pulse race in trepidation. "I always knew there was."

"Lily didn't even know this part," Sirius clarified. "As far as I know, only about three people alive today know this."

"What is it, Sirius?" Remus asked with clenched teeth.

"James ... and Harry ... are not actually the Heirs of Slytherin," Sirius said.

Remus frowned. "But you said James was the Pri—"

"I know what I said."

After pausing for a moment, Remus asked, "Then how can that be?"

Sirius breathed out heavily. "James' entire ancestry had been a lie, which he discovered when we were about seventeen," Sirius explained with a voice that sounded almost defeated. "He and his family were never truly the Heirs of Slytherin ... but of Gryffindor."

"Of _what_?"

"I don't know much about it," Sirius admitted. "But it's a kingdom that's been lost and forgotten for over a thousand years. James' ancestor at that time was taken to be raised by Slytherin himself, and no one to his day knows that. So when James found out that he wasn't the legitimate Heir, he renounced his title ... and we fled to Hufflepuff."

Remus could scarcely remember how to breathe. "...How can this be possible?"

"I could hardly believe it myself when I first found out."

"And you've never told anyone?"

"Not until today."

Remus stretched his neck forward until his head rested on his bent knees. His mind was swimming with this new life-altering information. He found that he didn't want to hear anymore. "Poor Harry," he murmured in anguish. His heart began aching when he remembered that he didn't even know if Harry was still alive.

Eyes closed and head bowed, Remus began weeping.

-mp-

Harry wiped sweat off his forehead and smiled, satisfied, as he swung his sword lazily around him.

"Good fight," he panted.

Blaise winced, moving his shoulder around as if trying to determine whether or not it was dislocated. "Yeah, easy for you to say, you prat. I'm pretty sure my arm's broken."

Harry snorted. "You'd be screaming if it were."

"Who says I'm not tempted to?" Stretching his arms backward, an audible crack was heard, and Blaise sighed. "I am definitely looking forward to a bath right now."

"Lazy sod," Harry accused playfully. "You go have your bath, some of us actually have to work. My day doesn't technically start until Draco wakes up." Harry looked to the horizon and saw the first rays of the sun peeking over the distance mountains, indicating it was getting closer to the Prince's wake-up.

"I'm afraid it's already begun," he heard Blaise say, who was looking at something over Harry's shoulder.

"Huh?"

Blaise pointed in the direction of the Castle and Harry spun around. His eyes bulged at the sight.

Draco, it seemed, was very much awake and nearing them with every step.

"What the ..." Harry asked, watching the blonde, eyes wide as he realised Draco wasn't dressed in his normal robes. Rather, he was wearing ... "Armour?"

Beside him, Blaise snorted and Harry was very tempted to do the same. Chain mail didn't quite suit Draco; and the fit looked entirely off. He looked hilarious, but Harry made sure not to make it obvious. Draco would have him hanged otherwise. Instead, he kept quiet with ill-concealed shock as Draco came to stand just a few feet away from the two soldiers.

"Morning," he greeted.

Harry shook his head to regain his senses. "Good morning," he said cautiously, wondering what on earth was going on in Draco's head. When Draco didn't shed light on his unexpected arrival, Harry decided to take the matter into his own hands. "You're awake."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well done," he praised sarcastically. "Indeed I am, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't stare at me like that."

"Sorry, I just ... you look different," Harry blurted.

Blaise snorted once more and Harry felt like hitting him.

"Yes well, since I have no armour, I decided to borrow yours," Draco answered.

_Ah, that would explain why he looks like he's swimming in metal_, Harry thought in his head, but knew enough to keep it to himself. "You're welcome," he said with an amused grin.

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched slightly and Harry knew he was about to smile.

Blaise jumped in, "Forgive me, but _why_ exactly are you wearing Harry's armour?"

Draco shot Blaise an irritated look as if explaining such a thing would be physically painful. "To train, of course."

That's when Harry remembered their conversation a few days ago, when he had begged Draco to let him teach the Prince how to fight. That Draco had made the effort to wake up before the sun, wear Harry's armour and make his way down to the Square to where he knew Harry spent his mornings, filled Harry with unexpected affectionate warmth.

"Sorry, _to train_?" Blaise asked, wanting to check whether he had heard correctly.

"Yes, you imbecile. Is that so hard for your mite-sized brain to believe?"

Harry felt good knowing that, for once, Draco's insults weren't directed at him.

"A little, yes," Blaise replied.

Sensing Draco was about to erupt in anger, Harry decided to put a stop to their impending argument. "It's fine, Blaise. Draco and I agreed that we'd spend some time training over the next few days. I just didn't expect it to be so early." Harry turned to Draco. "How'd you wake up?"

"I had told my manservant last night to wake me up at seven this morning, so that I could prepare and meet you here," he said nonchalantly, while picking an invisible piece of dirt off his shoulder.

Harry couldn't help but smile at his overcompensating casualness, as if waking up so early was not a big deal, when Harry knew for certain that if Draco prized sleep above all else.

"_Oookay_," Blaise murmured, obviously thinking this had to be one huge joke. "I'll just be off now; wouldn't want to interrupt your little _'training session'_," he said while making air-quotes with his fingers and sending a knowing look toward Harry and Draco, that for some reason made Harry want to blush. "Farewell," Blaise wished in a sickly sweet voice them before walking away.

Harry turned to Draco, who appeared to have adopted a rosy hue on his cheeks. "Well, now that he's gone, I finally have you alone," Harry said.

Draco suddenly made an uncharacteristic high pitch sound, looking at Harry with wide eyes, startled at what he had just said. Realisation struck Harry instantly at his choice of words, and he felt his entire body heat up.

"Er ... I just meant that we can start our training!" he blurted in clarification.

Draco released a breath. "Right. Training."

Harry also took a moment to breathe deeply and barely resisted the urge to slap himself at his stupid words. _Change the subject, Potter._ "Really, Draco, you didn't need to wake up so early. We could have done it during the day." Harry prided himself on his calmly-delivered remark.

"Yes, but I knew you would already be dressed and sweaty—" his eyes bulged "—_ready_ ... I knew you would already be _ready_ to train," Draco said, looking absolutely mortified. But before Harry could make a comment as to his slip up in words, Draco walked a few paces and picked up Blaise's sword which had been left on the ground. "Come on then," he urged Harry hastily.

Harry, gripped his own sword and moved to stand opposite Draco. "Do you know how to use that thing?"

Draco stuck out a hip and glared at Harry. "_Yes_, now come on. You're the one who wanted to fight with me, so fight."

"I never said I wanted to fight with you," Harry corrected. "I said I wanted to teach you to defend yourself."

"Same difference."

"Actually, no. But I'll humour you for a moment, so I can get a handle on how well you can fight with a sword," Harry said, cautiously lifting up his weapon and watching Draco mirror him. "Why don't you come at me first?"

Draco shrugged and gripped the hilt of his sword with two hands before lunging wildly toward Harry, keeping his sword tip aimed directly for Harry's chest.

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed before dancing to the side and brushing the side of Draco's steel with the side of his.

Draco, with all his momentum, sailed past Harry and braked suddenly to keep from going too far. He spun back around to face the other, and brought his sword up to swing it wildly in Harry's direction.

"Dra—wait, stop!" Harry tried to call out, and easily blocked all of Draco's wayward thrusts, swatting his sword away as if it were an annoying fly.

Draco didn't heed and continued to advance on Harry with absolutely no finesse and unsafe sword movements that Harry was sure would gouge one of their eyes out.

"Stop, Draco!" Harry called again, hitting away haphazard parries that came at him from all different directions. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Draco was fighting with his eyes closed.

Deciding he'd had enough, Harry stepped it up, executed a few neat attacks of his own and ending of flinging Draco's sword out of his grip and grabbing onto Draco's free hand and holding him close.

They both paused and breathed heavily in each others' faces.

After a moment, Draco proposed, "Again?"

Harry looked at him in scepticism before shaking his head. "No way on _earth_ am I letting you do that again without more instruction."

Draco had the grace to look a little sheepish. "What was so bad?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh a little. "Everything, Draco." He finally let go of Draco's hands and stepped away. "First things first, you need to know how to hold a sword correctly."

"I beg your pardon? I can hold a sword!" Draco objected hotly.

Harry held out the sword in his hand and twirled it around once to ensure a strong grip. "Try holding it in one hand instead of two," he suggested.

"But I see you holding it in two hands!"

"Only when I need to make a strong thrust to either stab someone's gut or slice through their neck," Harry replied, realising he probably should have censored his gruesome words a little when Draco made a face. He coughed. "Otherwise, I only use one hand. Makes it easier to move, swing, spin around ... you get the idea."

Draco didn't look impressed and simply stared at Harry, dead-pan.

"Trust me. Here," he murmured, coming to stand directly behind Draco and took the blond's right hand and bringing it to his sword's hilt. "Take it." Draco did and once the sword was transferred to the Prince, Harry took his own hand and slid it across Draco's wrist. "You've got too much tension here," he said softly, aware that his face was inches from Draco's ear. He noticed Draco shudder a little when he curled his fingers around Draco's slim wrist and guided his hand. "Relax your forearm muscles, then the sword will move easier in your grip."

"But I'll feel like I'm losing control then; it'll be easier to knock out of my hand," Draco replied, staring intently at their touching hands as they both glided the sword around.

"No, it actually gives you more control. You're able to move it anyway you like. The sword will always follow your wrist; and you can move it away from danger much easier," Harry explained, inwardly relieved that Draco was interested enough to participate the way he was.

Harry moved his grip up and gently grasped Draco's arm, feeling his fingers heat up at the contact, and began to move it around a little. "Watch the sword," he said softly, enjoying the way Draco's lean forearm muscles writhed under his grip. "See how every little movement you make in your arm, makes the tip of your sword go quite far. You need to become sensitive to the position of your weapon."

"You make it sound like it's part of your own body," Draco remarked in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"Wield it correctly, and it is." Harry looked down and his gaze caught on the Prince's blond hair that were curled softly around the shell of his ear and decided he very much wanted to touch it. When he realised what he was thinking, he quickly shook his head. "Now, you need to get the rest of your body to agree with the fight you're about enter. So keep your legs in a wide stance, bend your knees and keep your head low." Harry watched as Draco obeyed his instruction. "Good," he praised, with a warm smile directed at the side of Draco's face. "_Now_ you look ready to fight."

Draco's face lit up as he grinned and straightened up. "Well, let's do it! Go get a sword," he urged impatiently.

Harry laughed. "Slow down. I only said you _looked_ ready, not you _are_. We've still got a long way to go."

-mp-

An hour later, they were still sparring in the Square, and Harry was openly surprised that Draco had stayed so long. He was sure the blond would have been begging to return back to the Castle to have a shower and get out of the chain male armour. But Harry had been proven wrong. Not only had Draco stayed, but he was actually putting everything he had into the fight.

The sweat beaded on Draco's forehead and the determined pout on his lips was proof enough for Harry, who couldn't take his eyes off the Prince.

They were in the middle of another fight and Harry had instructed Draco to take on a purely defensive stance. It still struck Harry as odd that he was attacking the one person he was going to put his life on the line for. But of course, Harry wasn't exactly fighting will every ounce of his skill. He kept his sword movements low and slow, in order for Draco to keep up with the fight.

Watching Draco in the middle of a fight was purely intoxicating. The man moved with elegance that was typically never seen in a battle. Harry grinned inwardly; he supposed he should have expected it. Draco never did anything without his usual grace.

Draco's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Faster, Harry! Do it faster!"

Harry's mind stalled and his sword slipped out of his hand.

Draco stopped, mid-swing, and gave him a curious look. "Why did ... You dropped your sword," he panted, staring at Harry in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?"

Harry blinked and swallowed, waiting the few seconds it took for his mind to begin to function normally against.

_Bloody hell, what was I thinking?_

Harry knew well was he was thinking, and he frowned to himself. Draco's sudden yell had forced his mind into untrodden territory, and he found himself thinking entirely inappropriate things.

"No," he said eventually when speech returned to him, avoiding eye contact with him. "No, you didn't. I just ... thought I heard something," he muttered, bending over to pick up his sword again, mentally slapping himself.

When he stood upright again, he saw Draco giving him a broad grin.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I'm getting too good for you, aren't I?" the Prince smirked.

Harry snorted. "Not likely."

"Then why did you drop your sword?"

"Got distracted," he said with a shrug.

"By my skill?" Draco prodded.

"By my thoughts," Harry replied, giving Draco small smile, amused by his insistence.

"What were you thinking about?"

Harry blushed. "Nothing."

"Tell me!"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. You dropped your sword, Harry! You _never_ drop your sword."

It occurred to Harry that Draco was entirely right. To drop one's weapon in the middle of a fight is considered a rookie mistake—something Harry hadn't done in the six years since he started his proper training. That he dropped his sword by one mere stray thought of Draco struck Harry as odd ... and a little disconcerting. Harry decided that he would try not to think of Draco in inappropriate ways again while fighting. Or _ever_.

Harry shrugged. "Happens," he said nonchalantly, if only to shake Draco off his train of inquiries. "Just make sure _you_ never drop your sword if someone attacks you."

Draco gave him a smirking look of doubt. "You're a terrible teacher."

Harry dropped his jaw in mock offense. "I am not!"

"You're an awful example; doing exactly what I shouldn't. Honestly, Harry, I don't know if I can trust you," Draco said with a casually administered sigh, as if weighing up Harry's credibility as a tutor. "Before you know it," Draco continued, "_I'll_ be the one teaching _you_."

Harry stepped up close to Draco and grinned widely. "Be my guest," he challenged, playing along, wanting to see how Draco would get himself out of this mess. They both knew Draco had nothing to teach Harry that Harry didn't already know.

But Draco, never one to step down from a challenge, whipped his sword up. "En guard!" he proclaimed.

Harry had about a second to get himself ready before he found himself on the wrong end of Draco's sword, laughing merrily while he kept the Prince at bay, defending every one of the blond's parries.

"Ha!" Draco yelped as he got a few well-placed thrusts in Harry's direction, forcing his bodyguard backward.

Harry, thoroughly enjoying their little play and Draco's pretend-seriousness, only did enough to make sure none of Draco's attacks had any real adverse affects.

Draco continued to force Harry backward, splitting into a victorious grin himself. Occasionally they made eye contact and Harry's almost swallowed his tongue observing Draco's face flushed pink and so full of energy. His eyes were almost glowing.

_When did Draco become so ...?_

Harry's keen focus on Draco and not on the fight was his ultimate demise. So intent was he on watching Draco, he never noticed the Prince's final fell swoop which knocked Harry's sword clean out of his hands.

"Woa—!" he had time to yelp before the force of Draco's advance caused him to stumble and fall backward, landing painfully on the hard cement. The momentum of that last attack caused Draco to trip over Harry's fallen feet, drop his sword somewhere to the right, and follow his victim down, until with a loud "Oof!" expelled from Harry, Draco landed on him.

Pain erupted from Harry's arse and stomach as the force from both the ground and Draco's stabilising arm compressed his abdomen. He heard Draco gasp from somewhere close to his ear, but it took Harry a long moment to realise exactly what happened.

"Bloody _hell_," he gasped after a moment, blinking wildly to see Draco sprawled on top of him, gathering his wits himself. "Hand ... off ... stomach," he wheezed.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled, lifting his hand, which upended his balance and caused him to slip further.

Then suddenly, all Harry could see was Draco's face inches above his own.

"Oh," he breathed stupidly, staring widely upward and took a long moment to keenly take in everything from Draco's eyelashes to the subtle tinge of pale facial hair on his jaw, wondering what it was about him that was so captivating. He saw and felt Draco stiffen in shock and hesitance, obviously wondering what it was they were doing.

Harry had no answer; he simply, inexplicably, hoped Draco wouldn't pull away. Having Draco so close to him was exhilarating, and Harry suddenly became obsessed with learning every detail about him, burning this memory and image in his mind like his life depended on it. Harry decided he didn't want to ever forget the intricacies of Draco's face.

There was a beauty about him Harry hadn't seen on anyone else; like it was inwardly a part of him that couldn't be erased no matter what he did. Harry knew of girls who spent hours trying to make themselves beautiful, and they would succeed too. But the attractiveness of Draco wasn't something one could simply dress into. It couldn't be made or unmade with clothing, or make-up or any other adornment.

It was simply just Draco.

"Harry," Draco said eventually, and Harry watched his lips as he spoke.

Harry could sense a note of uncertainty in his voice and loathe as he was to think it, he knew Draco should pull away. Everything about their situation was wrong and Harry knew that if anyone saw them, he would be hanged for his misconduct. But despite the threat, Harry felt dangerously drawn to him. He swallowed as a wave of heat rushed through his body and he fought to maintain unbroken eye contact with Draco.

After a long, wavering moment, Draco exhaled and started to push himself upright, bracing himself against the cement of either side of Harry. But as he rose and straightened his spine, Harry followed him up, determined to keep their close connection.

Draco seemed surprised, staring at Harry with wide eyes, and silently asking why Harry was persisting in what they both knew was wrong and inappropriate. Harry again, couldn't answer him. He just knew, with the weight of Draco in his lap and the gaze they had yet to break, he didn't want this moment to end.

"Don't," Draco said softly.

"Why?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"I can't stop," Harry admitted.

Draco leaned further away from him and shook his head minimally. "It's not right." Then he finally looked away from Harry and realised his position on the seat of Harry's lap. His eyes went wide and he immediately made to stand up.

Harry grabbed his arm. "Stay," he begged, realising his voice was bordering on desperation. He knew that if Draco stepped away, there was the risk that they might never have such a moment again, and Harry was terrified. He wanted to experience this again.

"Harry, let go of my arm. This isn't right."

Having no proper argument and no logical reason to object, Harry reluctantly let go of Draco and watched as he stood up and put distance between the two of them. Suddenly, Harry felt like a chasm separated them. Wryly, he realised there might as well have been. Draco was the Prince of Slytherin. Who was Harry? No one.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable," Harry said in a low voice, feeling a little ashamed.

Draco didn't reply to that, which made Harry hurt a little in his chest, scared that Draco wouldn't find him trustworthy anymore. Had he damaged their friendship with his presuming actions earlier?

Eventually Draco said, "We should head back."

Harry nodded sadly and before he could say anything, Draco turned and began walking back to the Castle. Miserably, Harry sighed and followed him, wondering how the morning had transformed from happiness to sorrow in only a few minutes.

-mp-

The rest of the week passed with there being an unspoken tension between the two of them that Harry was desperate to get rid of. He wished he could speak his mind freely and act the way he wanted, without there being the threat of death hanging over his head.

Harry knew that what he felt towards the Prince was unjustified and severely frowned upon, but it couldn't be helped. He didn't even know what it was. All he knew that was he had a desire deep within him to be near him and in his company. He tried of a few occasions to speak about it to Draco, but the blond wouldn't humour him.

Even so, Harry knew he wasn't alone in his feelings. Draco felt something to. But what it was, neither of them knew. And both of them were too frightened to pursue anything.

Before too long, Saturday was thrust upon them, and Harry knew that on top of all this tension with Draco, he now had a much bigger dilemma to deal with.

He had a giant to kill.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: The Tournament._


	29. The Man Who Just Wouldn't Die

_A/N: Sorry for being a little late with this one! _

_By the way, __the power of the people reigns. Stay tuned for a rating change _;)

-mp-

Chapter 28

**The Man Who Just Wouldn't Die**

Despite the hum of excitement that had taken over the entire Empire, despite the warmth of a hot summer sun and despite the anticipation of a great sporting feat, Draco was doused in cold fear.

Sitting on the window ledge in Harry's chambers, he watched the city get ready for this afternoon's Tournament through the glass with sad eyes. Servants were running around, placing green and silver decorations all over the place. Markets and stalls had been set up to merchandise such a public event. Street entertainers were many and loud, dancing and juggling in their fashion. Men and women crowded the streets outside the Castle for their chance to see royalty and perhaps even the unknown warrior who was newly declared the Prince's Champion. All in all, the day was set for a national holiday. Spirits were high, alcohol was flowing and money was being spent by the galleons.

There really was no reason for anyone to be upset.

But the frown on Draco's face hadn't left him for a few days now and it wasn't about to stop now. He found it ironic that the last time the Empire had been swept up in a similar state of hysteria that a Tournament brought was during Harry's first day here. Back then, Draco had been a keen observer, eagerly watching the action before him as Harry had fought man and beast alike. But this time, Draco would have done anything to stop Harry from going through it over again. In the past few weeks since they'd known each other, something had changed.

"You're acting like I've already lost," came Harry's voice from behind him.

Draco turned and saw his bodyguard in his undershirt and breeches, obviously getting dressed for his Challenge. Harry's armour was on his bed, ready to be donned. Draco tried to put a lighter expression on his face. "No I'm not."

Harry made a gentle face and smiled. But Draco knew it wasn't a genuine one. "It'll be fine."

His tone and expression only convinced Draco that it _wouldn't_ be fine. He turned away from Harry and back to the window to hide his concerned features. He wasn't sure what was happening to him, but the very thought of Harry losing and dying brought such a heavy feeling of sorrow and despair that Draco wasn't sure what do to. His concern for Harry just kept mounting and so had the guilt. He felt guilty for not picking up the gauntlet in the first place. If he had, Harry wouldn't be facing certain death.

"Draco, just relax."

He whirled around and shot Harry a hurt look. "Relax?" he snapped. "Bloody hell, Harry, the Tournament's about to begin! Stop trying to act like everything's calm."

Harry dropped his shoulder and walked forward the few steps it took to stand before Draco's perched spot. "Look, I'm nervous, I'll admit it. But it won't do any good thinking about it. We'll just take it as it comes. Whatever happens, happens." He shrugged as if it didn't bother him at all, but this only made Draco angrier.

"Could you be a little less blasé about this? You could lose your life."

"I know."

Draco stared into Harry's eyes and stood up so that they were facing each other head on. Caught up in frustration, he hit Harry lightly on the chest and took a deep breath. "Just stop it."

Harry maintained his footing and didn't make a comment on Draco's hit. "Draco, everyone already knows I'm the unlikely opponent. People expect me to die." His face softened. "How do you think it makes me feel when the one person I'm doing all of this for, doesn't think I'm going to make it?"

Draco almost swallowed his tongue and felt guilt like he'd never known before suffuse every pore in his body. Harry was angry with him. But what made it worse was the calm manner in which he was expressing himself. Draco decided he would have preferred it if Harry was yelling at him.

Hearing that Harry was doing all of this for him sent duel waves of warmth and dread into him simultaneously.

"Harry..." he muttered, now knowing what else to say.

"I need you on my side."

"I _am_ on your side," Draco blurted.

"Then do you believe that I'm going to win?" Harry asked.

In his head, Draco knew Harry's chances were slim. But in his heart, he believed Harry's every word. "Yes," he said eventually.

"Then so do I," Harry responded, giving Draco a small but genuine smile that had Draco's heart racing. "All those hours doing extra training can't have been for nothing. I'll give as good as I get."

"I will be supremely angry if you didn't," Draco murmured.

Harry's features lightened. "Hey, I killed a man-eating lion last time. What's a giant?"

His light heartedness was contagious and Draco felt his mouth lift, despite the ache inside him. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was goodbye; that they might as well have been going to Harry's funeral. A pang of hurt shot through his body and Draco wanted to selfishly gather every remaining moment with his bodyguard. He suddenly remembered the conversation he'd had with Pansy a few days ago, when she had asked Draco how well he knew Harry. He had been shocked to discover he knew very little. Deciding that now was the time to get his answers, he blurted, "What's your favourite food?"

As expected, Harry looked at him absurdly, his face morphed into confusion and surprise. He peered into Draco's face, as if wondering if he'd gone insane. "What?"

Draco smiled a little more. "What's your favourite food?" he repeated.

"Why would you ask me that?" Harry asked rightly.

"Because I hardly know anything about you," Draco replied, "and now is as good a time as any to find out."

If Harry realised that Draco was having this conversation because he thought Harry might be killed soon, he didn't let on. Instead, he smiled. "A nice juicy steak," Harry answered, amused.

Draco made a mock face of disgust. "Plebian," he murmured in jest.

"Ponce," Harry retorted, grinning happily.

"_Prince_," Draco corrected, giving Harry a look.

"You wish."

Draco rolled his eyes, knowing he should never have told Harry that he wasn't actually the Heir of Slytherin. "Your favourite pastime?" he asked in an effort to steer the conversation away from his dubious right to the Throne.

Harry gave him another cheeky grin before adopting a pensive look. "I'm not sure. Maybe just spending time with my friends back home."

_Home_, Draco thought sullenly. _Back in Hufflepuff. Harry's home will never be here. _Trying his best to cover his feeling of hurt of being excluded in Harry's answer, Draco asked, "Who?"

Harry smiled sadly. "My best friend's name is Ron. Ron Weasley." He shrugged. "He's probably wondering where I've been all this time. Then there's Remus, who's been my guardian since I was little. He's—" Harry stopped and frowned sadly. "He's the one that got taken when I was brought here."

Guilt weighed down on Draco once more. He knew Harry had long since wanted to know where they were keeping his kidnapped friend, but Draco didn't know to tell him. That being said, Draco had never even made the effort to find out. He silently vowed he would, and if—_when_—Harry won today's Tournament, he'd tell him.

"Do you miss them?" Draco asked.

"Terribly. Wish they were here."

Draco knew the bolt of jealously that sliced through him was completely uncalled for but he couldn't help it. Harry would rather have his friends here in these last hours, than Draco. Inwardly, he felt disgusted in himself for vesting all his energy and emotions on being accepted by this one man. He couldn't understand why suddenly, all he craved was Harry's approval of him.

"But," Harry continued, giving Draco one of his smiles, "the present company's not that bad either."

It took a fraction of a second to realise what Harry was saying and Draco was smiling back at him, aware that he was dangerously close to blushing. He swallowed audibly.

"Who else?" Draco asked.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Er … well, there's the boys I grew up training with, the Professor, and—" Harry snorted amusedly "—Ginny."

"Ginny?" Draco inquired, wondering if she was Harry's sister.

"My supposed fiancé."

"_What?_" Draco blurted, then snapped his jaw shut immediately, not wanting his sudden outrage to be known.

It was useless because Harry was grinning broadly, looking rather pleased with Draco's reaction. "Didn't I tell you?"

"No," Draco snapped, entirely offended. Harry had a bleeding _fiancé_?

"She's Ron's younger sister. Everyone in Hufflepuff thought she and I'd be getting married."

Draco narrowed his eyes and asked cautiously, "And you're not?" He hoped the hint of desperation in his voice wasn't noticeable.

"Well, for one thing, I'm _here_ and she's _there_, so that presents a slight problem," Harry pointed out, making Draco exceedingly glad Harry was kidnapped in the first place. "Plus, I don't really like her, so I have no idea how I'll ever marry her."

To say that Draco felt relieved would be an understatement. Still, Draco _despised_ Astoria but was being forced to marry her. Would Harry be forced to marry whats-her-face? Draco silently vowed to never make Harry leave the Empire again.

Harry continued with a non-committal shrug. "I suppose you could say we've kind of been intended for each other since we were young."

"But you don't fancy her," Draco said, almost to reassure himself of this.

"Not really. I mean, she's a nice girl. But ... I can't see her as my wife," Harry answered.

"Why not?"

Harry shrugged again. "Not my type."

Draco was absolutely _itching_ to ask what Harry's type was but refrained himself in the last second. It wouldn't be proper to ask such stupid questions.

"But," Harry added, "I'm sure if I ever return to Hufflepuff, I won't be able to stop anything like that from happening. It would be expected." They made eye-contact. "Just like you can't stop your marriage to Astoria."

Draco felt bile in his throat. Forcing himself to adopt a calm exterior, he said, "Well for your sake, I hope your girl is at least a little more tolerable than Astoria."

Harry caught Draco's gaze with his bright green eyes. "Even if she is, I still don't want her."

Draco swallowed at Harry's nearness and swore he could smell Harry's scent all around him. "There are many things we have that we don't want."

"And too many we want that we can't have," Harry added, drilling his gaze into Draco. With a whisper, he asked, "What if we could change that?"

"How?"

"Do things our way; the way we want."

Draco wasn't sure what Harry was alluding to, but the idea behind his words was intoxicating. "It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be proper."

"Well, that's the thing. You'd have to throw 'proper' out the window," Harry said with a small knowing smirk on his face.

Draco smirked as well. "I'm the Prince of Slytherin. My life is dictated by what's proper."

"Don't you sometimes wish you could break free of it all?"

"Now I do," Draco replied honestly.

They stood in silence for a long and entrancing moment, staring at each other and tossing ideas in their heads that could only ever live in their imaginations. All his life, Draco had never questioned what was expected of him. But in the few weeks since he'd known Harry, everything had changed. Suddenly, being the Prince was a hindrance rather than a blessing. He wanted to live the life he wanted; do the things he wanted to do and act in ways that defied everything about his family and his position.

"Then do it," Harry said eventually, in a voice so soft, Draco first thought it was in his head. "Be different. Do what you want to do."

Draco stared at him, deep into his magnetic eyes. He was startled that Harry had just spoken the very words he had been thinking. And then, suddenly, it was as if all his inhibitions fled from him, and all he could think about was stepping even nearer to the man before him and into his embrace. It wouldn't be right. It would go against everything. But Harry had just challenged him to do whatever he wanted to do. And all Draco wanted to do was kiss Harry.

Trumpets blared outside.

Draco stepped back, away from Harry, suddenly feeling fear invade every cell in his body and despair gut his stomach. They maintained their unbroken soul-searching gaze, both understanding what the trumpet sound meant.

It was time.

Wordlessly, Harry moved towards the bed and put on his chain mail and armour, Draco's royal crest on his breastplate and shield: the image of a silver sparrow in flight across an emerald background. When he was dressed, fully prepared for battle, Draco observed him with a mix of wonder and anxiety. He was a sight to behold. Draco felt a rush of pride knowing this was his Champion.

While Harry approached him, Draco reached to the nearby table and picked up Harry's sword. He swallowed and slowly handed it to Harry when he stood within reach. Their hands needn't have touched, but Harry took the sword off him making sure their fingers toyed with each other. The warmth of Harry's touch was a sick paradox to the feel of the cold steel in their hands.

"I'll fight for you, Draco," he said with a strong and firm voice. "I'll spend my last breath and last drop of strength making sure you are never given over to Durmstrang's mercy. That's my promise to you."

Draco felt the heat of tears form behind his eyes and fought to keep his strength. He shook his head, deciding Harry's promise wasn't good enough for him. "No, promise me you'll live."

Harry searched his eyes and gave him a sad smile. "I promise to try."

Draco knew that was the best he would get. Harry's promising that he would live would be meaningless words until they knew the final outcome of today's Tournament. All Harry could do was promise to try. And he'd done that.

Now all Draco could do was hope.

-mp-

"You look unwell," the King observed nonchalantly, keeping his head facing forward while a handful of servants made sure the final touches of his appearance were flawless. Beside him, Draco's mother was waiting patiently while a servant girl fixed a stray lock of hair.

Draco wasn't sure how his father could make such a statement when they weren't even making eye contact. Nevertheless, he shrugged, flicking away the irritating hands of one of his own servants who was fixing the crown on his head. He wasn't about to tell his father, of all people, the reason for his gloom. He thought of Harry once more, wondering what he must be thinking wherever he was, ready to be led into the centre of the amphitheatre, where he awaited his opponent. Draco hoped Harry wasn't as nervous as he was.

"Answer me, Draco," the King murmured.

"I'm fine," Draco said shortly.

"You know," the King began with a sneer, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually _concerned_ for your bodyguard."

Draco flinched. _Concerned_ didn't even _begin_ to express what he felt for Harry. "I'm not," he lied. "I'm sure Harry is fine."

The King frowned and his upper lip curled into a disgusted sneer, but said nothing.

His mother spoke next, "Where were you earlier, darling? Your father and I were wondering what took you so long to arrive here."

"I was with Harry in his chambers, helping him get—"

Suddenly, the King whirled toward him and shot him a furious glare that had Draco almost fall backward in shock. "Fath—?"

"Stop calling him that, you impudent child!" he hissed strongly. Draco opened his mouth in outrage, but was forbidden from speaking when his father continued. "He is your guard; your _servant_, Draco. Have you no self-respect? You are the Crown Prince of Slytherin. Perhaps you might consider acting like it, and not some unworthy peasant who concerns himself with trivial matters. _Your_ name is far more important than _his_. I suggest you uphold it."

Draco took rapid breaths, in an effort to calm himself down. The urge to shout back at his own father in defence of Harry was clawing at him. He glanced at his mother through the corner of his eyes and saw she was not about to make any effort to intercede. Evidently, she shared her husband's view.

The King spat, "He is _no one_, and if I come to know that you are treating him as more than he is, I will personally take the matter into my own hands, and order that he be _killed_."

Draco gasped audibly. "No!" His heart was beating madly in fear and anger. He didn't even care that he had just revealed to his father that he cared for Harry more than he should; the idea that Draco's compassion may be Harry's death sentence was too much. Harry already had his date with destiny in a few moments; another threat to his life from the King himself would shatter Draco.

The King glared at him one last time before straightening up. As if on cue, the trumpets announcing the arrival of the Royal family blared and a loud, deep voice proclaim, "All rise for King Lucius, his Queen Narcissa, and their son Prince Draco!"

The roar of the crowd resounded in their little foyer that was attached to their pavilion box at one edge of the amphitheatre. Draco, whose heart was still clutching in pain and terror, tried to force all his emotions and followed his parents out into the shaded box.

He squinted at the harsh daylight and the increasing volume of sound that crashed into his skull as he stepped outside before the multitude of Slytherins. He made his way to his Throne, not even bothering to wave, too sick to even make a show of merriment. His parents spent a moment on the edge of their box, waving stoically to the crowds, before taking their seats. The King, naturally, was seated between them in the centre of the space, with his wife on his right, and his son on his left.

While the crowds were still yelling and filling the stadium with the noise of a torrent of water, Draco felt his father lean towards him and murmur, "I meant what I said, Draco. I have noticed that you are acting a way that is ill-befitting of a Prince. One more slip and I will have your bodyguard killed. Do you understand me?"

Facing forward so as not to meet his father's gaze, Draco clenched his teeth and forced himself to nod his acknowledgement, even though it killed him inside.

The announcer called for silence and Draco sat numbly as the multitude of Slytherins slowly quietened, anxiously waiting what was next. Beside Draco, his father stood up and approached the edge of the pavilion to address his subjects. Draco couldn't help but feel a wave of despise wash through him as he washed his father from behind. He couldn't believe the casual manner in which he dealt with the issue of Harry's very life.

"As you know," the King began to speak to the resounding silence, "today is a significant day for my son and myself and indeed, the entire Empire. Will we find retribution for the ceaseless attacks against the Empire? Will Slytherin triumph?" Not a sound was made; the King's every word held the crowd in suspense. "Yes. We will. Our Empire is bigger than her enemies. Our fight will be victorious; our victory remembered ..."

While his father spoke, Draco scowled inwardly at his self-glorifying speech. Today's Tournament had nothing to do with him. It made Draco sick that the one person who had the most to gain and lose in this Challenge would never be mentioned; the one person whose name Draco was forbidden to speak. If it were Draco up there, he decided his speech would have been remarkably different. Once again, Draco cast his mind to Harry, and sending up a quick prayer, hoping that he was handling the situation with less anxiety than Draco was.

There was a slight flurry of activity around him when the Tournament announcer took over the speaking once more. Draco looked behind him and felt his heart drop. There was Astoria Greengrass, dressed in a deep emerald dress that left her arms bare and her chest incredibly exposed, leering at him with her own special brand of repugnance. A servant led her over to Draco's side and it was only then he noticed the smaller throne that had been set up adjacent to his.

"Hello, darling," she breathed airily, making chills creep into Draco's blood, as she took her place beside him, smiling grandly to the crowds, effectively making their engagement public.

Draco spared her a brief noncommittal look before turning his attention back to the stadium, steadfastly ignoring her. So his mother hadn't been lying when she said that Astoria would be accompanying him to the Tournament, Draco mused in despair. He could hardly believe he was about to watch Harry fight for his life while Astoria sat beside him. In a bizarre way, Draco almost felt like he was betraying Harry by having Astoria with him.

Draco felt sick to the stomach.

He dimly heard the announcer call out the name of the Durmstrang giant, who plundered into the stadium from the left door, dressed in the full armour of his country, looking twice as large as he appeared last time they had met. Draco was convinced the man had grown at least six feet, and his sword looked to be the length of Draco's whole body.

Then, Draco heard the call announcing Harry's arrival. His name wasn't mentioned; only his title as the Prince's Champion—a title which had carried to all corners of the Empire so that everyone had heard of this new and mysterious swordsman who would represent the Prince.

Draco watched as his bodyguard entered the stadium through the right door to the resounding screams of the onlooking crowd. Draco's heart raced. Harry looked incredible in his armour, though Draco couldn't help but marvel at how small he was compared to the giant. As Harry walked, he had his sword ready gripping in his palm, already anticipating the fight.

His father, who was still standing at the edge of the pavilion, looking out to the stadium, motioned for silence once more with a small wave of his hand. The crowd obeyed instantly, shutting up and turning toward their sovereign.

The King looked down in Harry's direction and Draco's heart stalled, wondering what his father was about to say. Keeping his gaze locked firmly on Harry, Draco only wished he could be down there with him.

The King spoke in the pregnant hush. "You chose to retrieve the gauntlet that was meant for the Prince and have chosen to take part in this Challenge. Do you swear to duel in an honourable manner, worthy of the Prince's Champion? Do you swear to do everything in your power to ensure he lives? And if it comes to it, are you willing to lay down your life for your Prince?"

Draco held his breath in utter despair. He hadn't known his father would ask this of Harry in this moment, and it almost made Draco think that if Harry said no, he could still get out of it. But knowing Harry, he never would. Harry had sworn he would sacrifice his life for Draco's

Draco awaited Harry's answer.

It came in the next moment.

"I swear it."

It was like the final nail to his coffin, shattering his heart into pieces. Draco felt the breath knocked out of him. Beside him, he heard Astoria give a breathy giggle that made him want to throttle her.

"Then let the Tournament begin!"

Numb with inevitable terror, Draco watched the guards on the perimeters of the stadium rush forward to give both Harry and the giant their helmets, the final pieces that would complete their armour. Once Harry's had slipped on his head, he flexed his neck a few times and turned to face his opponent, crouching to keep a spring in his limbs, ready to pounce in attack.

The Durmstrang warrior turned to face Harry, assessing his foe. The initial moment of calm before the Challenge extended into a tense silence, making Draco start to sweat.

But then, the giant made a first move. Belying his huge size, he moved with such speed that Draco's eyes shot open and he gasped loudly.

Harry was ready, planting his feet firmly on the ground and holding off this first attack, with a defending block of his swords. The steels of their weapons slid past each other and the momentum of the movement, caused Harry and his foe to switch positions. Harry whirled around to face him, swinging his sword forward until it met with another resounding clash. The crowd's response was eager, calling out their enthusiasm.

A series of short and sharp executions with the two blades followed in a brilliant show of expert swordsmanship. Draco felt a tiny part of him relax, knowing that Harry was very prepared for this. He looked in control of the fight; anticipating every attack and keeping the giant away from his person at all times.

Draco knew Harry was a phenomenal fighter; possibly the best he had ever seen. He had won every single battle he'd been in, and comfortably. Nothing seemed too impossible for him.

"I wonder how long it will last," Astoria remarked casually, as if a fight to the death was not being played out right before her eyes.

Draco clenched his jaw and fists. "Why, did you have somewhere else to be?"

Astoria giggled again. The sound made Draco want to hurl. "Oh no, it's just that all this sport is terribly barbaric. It's not right for us noblewomen to sit and watch these bloody and gruesome games. What's it to me who wins or loses?"

Fire swept within Draco and every muscle in him tensed in wrath. _The wench! How dare she!_ Draco couldn't stand to look at her and he kept his eyes trained on Harry, knowing that it may not have mattered to Astoria, but it mattered all too much to Draco who would win and who would lose. Draco could hardly imagine the grief he would feel if Harry lost.

That he had only really known Harry for a little more than a month seemed not to matter. That amount of time seemed to be enough for Harry to take a place in Draco's heart.

Heart in his mouth, he watched Harry fight.

-mp-

Seeing Astoria sitting beside Draco had Harry's blood boiling in anger. It was the last thing he wanted to see. He felt a part of his heart break, knowing that the girl beside Draco would get to spend the rest of her life with the Prince, and rip that privilege out of Harry's ...

_What, Harry,_ he thought angrily. _Out of my hands? Was being with Draco ever a possibility?_

Furious and upset, he poured all his emotion into the fight. Dodging the swings of the Durmstrang giant would have been easier if Harry didn't have a million thoughts running wild in his head.

He knew he was out of line. He knew he had no place in Draco's life apart from being his bodyguard. He knew he shouldn't even think of Draco by his first name.

But, so help him, Harry couldn't help it. Something deep had changed in him; something that made him want Draco in a way he'd never felt before. To then see Astoria beside him was gut-wrenching.

_Focus, Harry, focus on the fight._

Frowning with rage, Harry gritted his teeth and put everything he had in his sword swing. He had made a promise to fight for Draco. And he would. Even if it killed him.

His opponent was fierce and strong, and Harry knew he would need to use his speed and agility to win. So he ducked, rolled, side-stepped and whirled at every opportunity, trying to distract the giant and get him frustrated to the point of error.

The crowd around them had blurred in his mind, and all Harry noticed was the fight before him and Draco watching him. He saw the Durmstrang warrior come at him with a powerful blow and Harry spun on his heels in the last second, hearing their clash of steel like music in his ears. In the turn, he caught sight of Draco in the pavilion and Astoria half-draped over him, whispering something in his ear.

Harry let out an anguished snarl and spun back to the giant with a mighty thrust, catching him off guard, forcing him into a last-second defensive stance. Harry followed it with another, and another, and another, forcing the giant back and creeping forward in the meantime. Every one of his attacks was infused with desperate anger towards his and Draco's situation. All Harry wanted to do was be by his side. He allowed himself another glimpse of Draco up in the pavilion, and saw Astoria clutching his arm like a bloody leach.

Unfortunately, this was all the distraction his enemy was waiting for.

Harry suddenly felt agony blaze across his right arm—

"Ah!" he exclaimed in pain. His grip on his sword went slack, as he turned his head to see the giant staring at his menacingly through the slit of his helmet, twirling his sword with ease, obviously in a pose of intimidation.

Harry grimaced and held onto his right bicep with his left hand, wondering how he had let himself be so distracted.

The giant attacked again, swinging his blade with power and Harry had just enough strength left in his right arm to hold off the blow. When their weapons collided, Harry felt like his entire arm was on fire.

"Agh!" he cried out again, feeling the hilt of his sword escape his fingers.

Suddenly, he was weaponless.

Harry's blood ran cold and he had just enough frame of mind to stop terror setting in. Now wasn't the time to panic; he needed to focus and move before the next strike. Keeping his eyes on the giant, who was watching him easily—like a cat might taunt a mouse—Harry scrambled back and away from the giant, towards his fallen sword. He needed to get it back.

The Durmstrang warrior must have seen what Harry was aiming for and so with thunderous footsteps, he approached the struggling Champion.

Harry had just enough time to hope this wasn't the end of him when he felt an almighty kick to his stomach.

Air rushed out of him, his spine curled and he screamed in pain, falling on his wounded side on the ground. Burning fire rushed through his aching body.

He hated how he must have looked. Like a coward, writhing on the ground.

_Get up! Get up, Harry!_

His body wouldn't listen.  
>Then suddenly, the giant kicked again. In his chest.<p>

Harry cried out in agony, clenching his jaw. Was this the end? Was this how he would die?

Strangely, the one thought that entered his mind was Draco.

-mp-

_HARRY! _Draco's mind screamed, as he felt tears collect on the lid of his eyes. He almost couldn't stand to watch, but he knew that if this was Harry's demise, he would give Harry the final honour of watching him die like the respected soldier he was.

Harry was on the ground. His weapon out of reach. At the mercy of the giant Durmstrang warrior, holding his body to withstand the agony.

_Get up, Harry. Get up for me. Don't die. You can't die. _

It was unbearable to see Harry in so much pain, fighting a fight that should have been Draco's. It took everything Draco had to not let his tears escape, not wanting anyone around him realise how much he felt towards his Champion.

The giant delivered another kick and even from his far distance, Draco actually heard Harry give out a loud roar of pain. The sound cut his heart. The giant stood back once more, observing his fallen prey, wondering how best to kill him. Draco felt a dark blackness take over his heart, realising Harry was near death. He suddenly became desperate. He still didn't know Harry well enough! He hadn't asked Harry who his family was! Draco realised he wanted to know everything about Harry, and that opportunity was about to be ripped right from his hands.

The giant made his final approach, sword in hand, ready to kill.

Then—

Suddenly—

Harry moved.

With speed and agility and surprising strength.

As if the pain he had just suffered was nothing.

Within a moment, he reached his sword and it was back in his hands, where it belonged.

His foe was stunned.

The crowd was amazed.

Eyes wide, Draco felt relief like he had never known before flood his body so that his limbs felt weak.

He watched as Harry stood, armed with his blade facing the giant with strength no one knew he possessed. Harry didn't allow the moment to linger. He pounced. Rushing at the giant and letting out an enraged roar.

The giant stood no chance.

Harry's sword struck through his defences, piercing his exposed neck. The enormous warrior immediately dropped to his knees with Harry's sword stabbed in his throat. Harry held his weapon embedded for a few seconds before ripping the bloodied blade out savagely.

The last threads of life were choked out of the giant and before Draco knew it, he was dead, and Harry stood panting above him.

There was silence for a brief second. Then, the crowds roared like never before, screaming, yelling, shouting, praising.

"CHAMPION! CHAMPION! CHAMPION!" they exalted with noise that shook the very foundations of the stadium.

Draco, frozen with absolute relief, couldn't take his eyes off Harry.

Harry.

The man who _just wouldn't die_.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up within him. All Draco wanted to do was shout his happiness, run down to Harry and touch him to make sure he was actually still alive. He couldn't believe it! Harry was _alive_! He wasn't sure how he did it. It seemed to all that Harry had given up; he looked like he was about to die. But out of nowhere, he got up!

It took every ounce of restraint to not get out of his chair and rush towards Harry.

"Oh, he won, did he?" he heard Astoria asked dumbly, as she looked up and around, wondering what all the noise was about.

Draco felt like punching her.

"Yes, he did," he managed to say curtly in a controlled voice, not letting his excitement escape from his mouth.

"I thought for sure he would die," she remarked.

"Well, he _didn't_," Draco snapped.

Then, the King stood up from his Throne and approached the edge of the box they were in. It took a long moment for the crowd to quieten as they were all still brimming with shouts of praise for Harry. If it were up to Draco, he would have let them.

"MY PEOPLE!" the King proclaimed once the noise level had receded. "SLYTHERIN IS _VICTORIOUS_!"

The almighty din rose past the boundaries of the stadium once more in celebration but Draco was again furious at his father's declaration. _Slytherin_ had nothing to do with it. This victory was all about Harry! He held in his anger and instead simply sat, keeping his eyes locked on Harry. He was almost scared to look away; like if he did, Harry would somehow disappear and Draco would think his victory had been a dream.

After a while, Draco watched as Harry was led out of the stadium by a pair of Slytherin soldiers and, unable to contain himself anymore, Draco stood and left as well, not caring what his parents or Astoria thought.

He rushed to see Harry.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Harry and Draco find out the forbidden fruit is always the sweetest._


	30. These Walls Have Eyes

Chapter 29

**These**** Walls Have Eyes**

Draco ignored all the looks from the Slytherin guards he received and hurried down to the holding cell where they kept prisoners before releasing them to the open stadium to fight. He knew that was where Harry would be. His heart was beating wildly with anticipation, knowing what he was doing could be considered foolish and beneath his royal station. But he found he didn't care; he just wanted to see Harry.

Entering the holding cell through a dark narrow corridor that had the smell of dirt and sweat infused into its walls, he immediately saw Harry, who was busy observing the severity of his wounds, and Draco suddenly felt his legs weaken. He took a moment to compose himself.

"Leave us," Draco ordered succinctly to the two soldiers in the room.

At the sound of his voice, Harry spun. They made eye contact and Draco silently told him to not say anything until they were alone.

Startled by the command, the soldiers looked as if they were about to object. But when they realised who had spoken, they obeyed instantly and left the underground room, closing the door behind them.

The moment they were alone, Draco rushed to him. "Harry," he let out impulsively, filled with the insane desire to throw his arms around him. He resisted in the last moment and simply stopped directly before Harry, searching his face eagerly, thrilled beyond words to see lively green eyes gleaming back at him.

"Draco," Harry breathed, as if unable to believe he was actually there.

Draco saw Harry's left arm twitch, as if to rise, and he knew he wasn't the only one who wanted to touch and make sure everything was real.

Acting on his desires, Draco raised his hands and brought them to Harry's face, feeling his warm, sweaty and dirty skin as what seemed like live energy rushed between their connection. Harry seemed to relax in his hold and Draco revelled in the moment of freely touching Harry's skin.

"You're alive," Draco said in relieved wonder, feeling the tears from before collect back in his eyes. "You're alive."

Harry grinned at him, and even though his face was littered with scars and covered in blood, Draco thought it was the best thing he'd ever seen. "Yeah, I am. Couldn't very well leave you alone, could I?"

Draco laughed through his heavy emotions. "Looking out for me?"

"Always," Harry said with all sincerity, staring deep into Draco's face and saying things with his eyes that Draco understood in his heart.

Draco made to lower his hands, but Harry stopped him with his unwounded hand and held Draco's palm against his face, savouring the touch. Draco felt a rush of warmth flow from inside him. "I thought ... you'd be killed," he whispered, enjoying their connection and slowly moving his thumb across Harry's stubbled cheek.

"I'm here now, Draco. I told you I'd do everything I could to make sure you stayed safe," Harry reminded him.

"You did," Draco added. He smiled. "You almost died, you prat. Don't ever do that to me again."

Harry smiled back. "I'm sorry."

The hand Harry wasn't holding, Draco moved down to Harry's shoulder, wanting to maintain their touch and continue to feel Harry.

Harry winced and let out a small gasp.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"My arm."

Draco remembered that Harry's right arm had been stabbed in the fight and he cautiously lifted free of Harry and peered at his injured side. "Let me see it," he requested.

He felt Harry smile. "This again?" his bodyguard asked. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop looking at my injuries?"

Draco cracked a small grin to, but didn't play along. He wanted to get Harry's arm treated. "Sit over there." He indicated to a wooden bench, and followed Harry to it. Once Harry was seated, Draco realised with a blush that for him to do anything, Harry would need to take off his metal guard and chain mail. "Can you ..." he began, "Can you take it off?"

Harry's grin grew and he never looked away from Draco's face. "Take what off?" he asked, knowing full well what Draco was implying.

Draco made a face but studiously avoided Harry's face. "Your armour," he clarified, sure that his face was blooming pink.

"That's going to be difficult, considering one of my arms hurts like crazy. You might need to help me with it," Harry replied through his smile.

Draco felt the weight of his playful, overconfident glare and chose not to be baited by it, even though the idea of helping Harry take off his armour sounded far more interesting than it should have. Draco chanced a look at Harry's face and felt a wave of heat through his body when their eyes caught. "Fine," he agreed, happy that he was keeping his voice controlled.

He closed the distance between them and bent down to untie the leather straps holding his armour in place. The move brought their faces in intimate proximity and Draco could feel Harry's breath and gaze on him. He swallowed and focused his mind on the task, undoing the buckles gently slipping off Harry's metal side guard armour, trying hard to ignore Harry.

He carefully placed that on the ground and looked back at Harry. Now for the harder bit; taking off the chain mail itself would involve more work.

"Arm up," he requested of Harry's uninjured hand, and, ignoring Harry's wild grin, helped ease the heavy mail up off Harry's torso and one of his arms. The act itself was proving to be incredibly personal. Draco had never done anything like this with another person and he had thought all his life that his first experience to do anything remotely as intimate would be with his future bride.

That it was Harry instead sent butterflies to dart around in his stomach and his pulse racing.

He gently lifted the armour over Harry's head and quickly darted his eyes down to look at Harry's chest and stomach, which were only covered with a thin undershirt that was absolutely soaked through with sweat. Draco decided he should look away lest his legs became even weaker; it was a hard choice to make when Harry's torso might as well have been _sculpted_.

Once the chain mail was carefully eased around Harry's injured arm, Draco could then drop it on the floor and try hard to keep his eyes off Harry's extremely attractive body.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, still with that insufferable grin on his face, as if he knew the torment Draco was going through just by standing in such close proximity to Harry's body.

Mouth utterly dry, Draco sat down on Harry's right side and wordlessly took his arm and began to peer at the injury. He was acutely aware of how close they were, how underdressed Harry was, and how much Harry's presence was affecting him.

Dipping his own handkerchief into the water basin on the adjacent table, Draco carefully dabbed the material against Harry's wound and heard the man wince, while his arm tensed.

"Sorry," he murmured, eyes frozen on the bulging muscle on Harry's upper arm.

"S'okay," Harry replied, "Never been too good with injuries before."

Draco smirked and continued to tend to the injury, trying his best to clean it. "So you can kill lions and giants, but you're scared of tiny little scratches," he remarked sarcastically, holding Harry's arm in his palm and feeling heat being interchanged between them.

Harry let out a soft laugh and gazed down at Draco. "Killing, I can do. Healing? I'll leave that you, shall I?"

Draco let his smirk grow, but studiously avoided looking at Harry's face. "What makes you think I'll always be around to tend to you?"

Harry paused, obviously trying to think of an answer. When he couldn't he simply pouted playfully and said, "Please?"

Draco really shouldn't have glanced up at Harry's face at that moment, but he couldn't help it. Seeing Harry's protruding lower lip and his gleaming green eyes, something deep within Draco's stomach jolted pleasurably, and he was filled with that same desire he had earlier to kiss him.

Harry, happy that he had Draco's gaze locked, continued with a playful grin on his face. "Besides, I'm not sure I'd ever find a Healer half as good as you."

Swallowing loudly, Draco's felt his heart skip a beat. He said the first thing that came into his head. "I'm not actually qualified, you know." He automatically regretted his words. _What on earth was he saying? Shut up, Draco._

"Doesn't matter," Harry replied. "You're qualified enough for me. I trust you more than any of the others."

That did it. Draco couldn't take it anymore.

He craned his neck up and captured Harry's mouth. Kissing him.

Harry, for his part, widened his eyes almost comically the moment their mouths touched. But Draco, deciding to forget their situation and simply feel the sensations, closed his own and pressed deeper into Harry, loving the sweet tension between them and the feel of Harry's lips touching his.

It wasn't long before he felt Harry relax and smile against his lips. That seemed to be signal for all of Draco's worries and inhibitions to leave him, and he raised one of his hands to hold along Harry's jaw, revelling in the novel sensations of rough stubble rubbing against his palm. Everything about their kiss was new; an exploration for both of them. Draco almost felt lost, trying to find a path to find his way again. But it was okay. Because Harry was with him. Just the two of them. No one else in the world mattered. Not his father. Not Astoria. Not the rest of Slytherin. Not even the expectations placed on both their shoulders.

Right now, it was just him and Harry, and a kiss that sent shivers through Draco's body.

Harry was unlike anything Draco had ever known. It was exciting to be so new to this. To experience the feeling of having another body—_Harry_—so close to his own, to taste his very breath, to touch his skin.

It was forbidden.

But it was so sweet.

"Draco," Harry murmured between their kisses, dipping his head to the left, moulding his mouth further into Draco's.

Draco let out a small moan and let their kiss continue, until every part of his body felt alive with energy and unresolved desire. It was astonishing how such a little taste of Harry could send all of Draco's nerves into an overload of sensation, especially when Harry's hand buried into Draco's scalp and Draco could feel Harry's own desire for him.

"Harry," he whispered, letting their kiss taper off into small hungry nips. He rested his forehead against Harry's and they breathed the same air.

"We should stop," Harry said in a voice that sounded like a deep growl.

"Someone could come in. We're never alone," Draco replied, hating the thought and wishing he and Harry had all the time in the world. Unbidden, the memory of his father's words from before sent chills down his spine. He lifted his face away from Harry and lowered his eyes. "Harry ... we shouldn't have done that."

Harry frowned and ducked his neck to stare into Draco's eyes. "Why not?"

Draco bit his lip, tasting Harry on his own mouth. He shook his head softly. "My father ... He'll kill us."

Harry gently caught Draco's face and adjusted it until they could look each other in the eyes again. "Don't think about that."

"I wish we could. But we can't just forget who we are. Harry, what we're doing is impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," Harry breathed, searching Draco's face desperately.

Draco wished Harry would stop trying to pretend everything was easy. He, more than anyone, wanted there to be no complications. But it was useless to dream. "_This_ is. My father told me that if he ever came to the understanding that you were more than just my bodyguard, he'd have you murdered."

Harry gripped Draco's face a little tighter and drew him closer. "Then he'll never know."

"And we'd just live our whole lives as one big lie? Is that your answer?"

A deep sigh escaped Harry, as if he came to an understanding of just how forbidden whatever they were doing was. He broke eye contact for a brief moment before finding Draco's gaze again. "No, it's not," he answered miserably. "I just want to kiss you again. And never have to see Astoria by your side again."

Draco smiled sadly, but before he could say anything, Harry pulled him close and pressed their mouths together once more.

Even though the weight of the whole Empire was on their shoulders, Draco let himself relax for just that one moment in time, in Harry's arms, enjoying a kiss they never should have shared.

"Your Highness?" came the voice of one of the soldiers.

Draco jumped back in terror, heart in his mouth. It took a moment for him to realise that the solider had called to him from the other side of the door. He and Harry were still alone and no one had seen them kiss.

He shot Harry a look of longing, who returned the gaze with visible desire that had Draco heat up. Harry took advantage of their last precious few seconds togethers by pulling Draco in close one more and layering kiss after kiss quickly on his lips.

"Told you we're not alone," Draco whispered against Harry's lips when their intimate touches had died down.

"You should answer back," Harry suggested, "Before they think I'm doing something terrible to you."

Draco smirked. "You _are_ doing something terrible to me."

"This is terrible?"

Draco grinned. "Some might think so."

"Do you?"

Leaning in once more, Draco pressed another kiss to his lips. "What do you think?"

Harry grinned back and carefully threaded his fingers through Draco's hair for one last time, before Draco stepped away and put a reasonable amount of distance between them. "Guards. I am finished in here," he called back to the soldiers in a dignified voice that betrayed none of his emotions.

The door opened and the two guards trudged back in, obviously wondering why they were ordered to go outside in the first place.

Draco turned to Harry. "I suggest you take a bath before you come into my presence again." Then, addressing the guards, he said, "Escort me back to the Castle; my bodyguard will obviously be temporarily detained."

"Yes, my lord," they muttered, following their Prince out the door.

-mp-

"Draco."

Halfway back up to the Castle, Draco was intersected by his parents who were returning from the stadium. He was immediately cautious.

"Yes, father?" he asked slowly.

"I will hold a Ball tonight, in honour of our victory today," the King informed, while Draco silently seethed at there being no mention of Harry again.

"Is that so?" he asked, with clenched teeth.

"Yes, indeed," his mother answered, looking excited by the prospect. "You are expected to be there, of course, and you will escort Astoria."

Draco's limbs turned to ice. "Must I?"

His mother shot him an angered look. "Yes, darling. What's more, your father and I decided that due to the imminence of your twenty-first birthday, it is time we announced to the public your marriage to Astoria. "

"What?" Draco breathed.

"And we will announce it tonight ... at the Ball," his father added.

Draco felt the air leave his lungs and his heart sink into his stomach. Anger invaded all his cells and he took a moment to calm himself down. "And did you not think," he said in a voice nearly shaking with fury, "to ask me about this? This is _my_ life, father. It's my future and my marriage. I think I should at least have a say whether or not we tell everyone—"

"I am your _King_, Draco. If I say we will make the announcement, then we will make the announcement. If I say that you will marry Astoria within the year, then—"

"_What_?" Draco yelped. "Within the year? Father, no!" The very thought was unbearable.

His father's face grew stern and unforgiving. "Draco," he spat in a deathly calm voice that sent chills invading Draco's skin. "You _will_ obey me, and you _will_ learn your place. My threat from earlier still stands, Draco. Do not forget your place. Your conduct towards certain ... individuals has been disappointing and disgusting, and it is time you did what I told you to do. Tonight, we will tell the world of your impending marriage and you would do well to agree. Am I clear?"

Biting his tongue hard and feeling tears develop in his eyes, Draco could only nod while staring off in the distance, feeling like he was pushing a nail through both his and Harry's hearts. Why did this have to happen now? He had been so happy a few minutes ago with Harry, but now his father had to come and remind him of the horrible mess he was in.

"Excuse me," he breathed out to his parents before rushing away, determined to put distance between them before he exploded in angry and despair.

"The Ball will commence at six, Draco!" his mother called out. "Be ready!"

Draco couldn't care less about the Ball. He half-ran all the way to his chambers and shut the door behind him, wanting to be alone. He threw himself on his bed, buried his head in his pillows, and let the tears that had been threatening since that morning, fall down his face.

He stayed that way until someone began knocking on his door some time later. Draco was determined to ignore it, when he realise the knocking was coming from the door that led to Harry's chambers. Wiping his face, he got up and moved to open the door.

Sure enough, Harry was on the other side.

"What happened?" he asked immediately, staring at Draco's wet face with shock. A second later, Draco found his head being gently cradled in the cups of Harry's palms. It was amazing how that one initial touch made Draco think that things weren't as bad as they were. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. No." Draco wiped his face again. "My parents are holding a Ball tonight."

"And?"

"They're going to announce my engagement to Astoria," he finished miserably.

Harry, for his part, didn't look as ashen as Draco felt. "But, that's nothing new is it?" Harry prodded. "I mean, you've known you were engaged to her for years now."

"Yes, but this is public. Announcing it to all the guests at the Ball will mean that everyone will be expecting the wedding to be soon." Draco felt bile in his mouth. "Within the year," he added despondently.

"The year?" Harry echoed in anguished surprise.

Draco nodded; he couldn't help but feel his entire life was slipping through his hands, like it was completely out of his control.

Harry sighed and Draco could feel his misery piling on top of his.

"I don't want this," Draco whispered. "This isn't right. I don't want Astoria."

Harry eagerly leant in to kiss Draco hard, melding their mouths together as though they were always meant to be. Harry's hands crept around Draco's head and gently threaded into his blond locks, caressing them and holding him still while his lips and mouth became more insistent.

Draco felt his knees weaken and he held onto Harry for support and strength. Without him, Draco was sure he would probably have fallen over. When he felt Harry's tongue probe against his mouth for the first time, he felt his heart leap in desire and he immediately opened to the new sensation, inviting a fresh wave of emotions to engulf him and make him feel like this brief moment in history was all theirs.

Draco revelled in the feeling of having Harry's explore his mouth, like he was greedy for everything he discovered. Draco felt wanted and he let Harry act on his desire-filled hunger however he wanted. He eagerly pressed forward, mindfully avoiding Harry's injured arm, and was pleasantly shocked to feel his bodyguard's hard and solid muscles resting against his own. Harry was like a wall; a trustworthy rock on which Draco knew he could lean on.

Harry withdrew and Draco took his fill of Harry's kissed lips and darkened eyes.

"I could kiss you forever," Harry whispered, his voice sounding almost harsh from their kisses.

Heat and lust rushed through Draco. "I'd probably let you," he replied. Harry could do whatever he wanted to him and Draco wouldn't object.

Harry smiled sadly and flexed the fingers that were still buried in Draco's scalp, softly massaging and sending waves of pleasure through Draco. "So when's this Ball?"

Draco relaxed in Harry's hand and craned his neck a little to press further into Harry's palm. "Six." He sighed. "I should get ready."

"Let's not go," Harry suggested. "Let's run away."

Draco smiled at him, finding that even the _idea_ of running away with Harry sounded like the best thing he'd ever heard. "I need to go to the Ball, Harry."

Harry frowned. "And tell the world of your upcoming marriage," he added.

"Yes ..." Draco said with a sigh.

"Tell me what to do. If there's anything I can do to stop this, tell me. I'll do it, if only to save myself from seeing it happen in front of my own eyes," Harry pleaded.

"If there was anything, I would have done it months ago. I don't love her, Harry." Upon saying those words, Draco almost wished he could take them back, because now he started thinking about who he _did_ love. Harry? Wasn't it too soon? If Draco was honest with himself, he didn't know what he felt for Harry, but he knew that whatever it was, it was stronger than anything he'd ever felt towards anyone else.

_Knock, knock._

Harry smiled wryly. "I'm beginning to think being interrupted is a given now."

"What did I tell you? These walls have eyes."

"Dear God, I hope not," Harry joked.

Draco grinned and turned his neck in the direction of his door. "Yes?"

"Your Highness," came a timid voice that Draco recognised as his manservant. "I have come to help you dress for this evening."

Harry snorted. "Still can't get dressed on your own, Draco?" Harry teased. "Always knew you were a ponce."

Draco opened his mouth, as if affronted. "I beg your pardon. Do you know how difficult it is dressing up in royal robes?"

"Nope. I just get dressed in armour; none of that fancy stuff," Harry said with a contagious grin.

"You obviously have no taste for style," Draco admonished playfully.

"Nah. I've just got a taste for _you_," Harry said with a wolfish grin, before swooping in and planting another kiss on Draco's ready mouth.

Draco pulled away with a laugh. "Away with you! Stop distracting me."

"Ah, but I think you _like_ it when I distract you," Harry said, trying to pull Draco closer to himself.

"Not when I've got people waiting for me and wondering where I am." Draco scrambled away from Harry's hold, and went to open his main door, while Harry remained leaning against the entrance to his own chambers with his arms folded, watching with a slight smirk.

"Your Highness," Draco's servant said with a low bow. When he straightened his spine, he added, "I am at your service."

Draco stepped aside and allowed the boy to enter. While his servant meandered over to the impressive wardrobe that contained all of Draco's robes, Draco quickly went over to Harry and said, "You should go or you'll die of boredom."

Harry snorted. "When will you be finished?"

"Not until the start of the Ball."

"It will take you three hours to get ready?" Harry asked, disbelieving.

"Probably."

"Blimey. Ok, well, I'll be waiting outside your room to take you down to the Great Hall at six o'clock then."

"Try to look somewhat appropriate," Draco added playfully.

"Well, I'll just be in my usual armour. You be the judge of that."

Draco grinned, knowing that Harry in his armour always had his face heat up. Harry would be more that handsome in his attire. He'd be knee-weakeningly attractive.

"Go," he urged with a push against Harry's chest.

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and brought it to his mouth for a quick peck. "See you."

Draco was sure his cheeks were pink as he watched Harry walk away, and he began to wonder why he had taken so long to warm up to his bodyguard.

-mp-

Harry knew it would take him less than twenty minutes to get ready, so he decided to explore the Castle a little to bide his time. It didn't escape his notice that the last time he had done this, he had overheard the King talking to someone Harry hadn't been able to place about bringing harm to Draco. They had been whispering mutedly, fearful of being overheard.

As Harry ran over the memory of that night, he paused mid-step and frowned.

Something occurred to him.

Just before he had eavesdropped on the King's conversation, Harry had been looking over some ancient paintings. He remembered seeing a mighty battle depicted in the drawings, along with griffins in the sky. But what struck Harry was the enormous sword one of the fighters had been holding. When Harry had seen it, he had marvelled at its size and power.

Was it just one huge coincidence that the Voice in the Dark Forest kept mentioning something about a Red Sword? Harry thought not. There had to be a connection between these two things.

Frowning, Harry continued to meander through the stone corridors of the Castle, trying to retrace his steps back to the paintings, thinking all the while.

One thing was for sure: there were more secrets in Slytherin than Harry had ever dared to imagine. And what's more, Harry felt like he was right in the middle of it.

For the second time that week, Harry wished he could speak to the Professor and get him to answer all these questions.

It took close to an hour before Harry found himself staring at the painting once more, his eyes glued to the massive sword held in the hand of the warrior wearing gold armour with a thick maroon coloured cloak. Was this it? Was this the Red Sword? But how could that be if this painting was only myth?

Questions chased each other around his head. Harry decided to move further down the wall, looking at other paintings hung on the wall. None of the others were as intriguing as the one with the griffins and sword. Half-way down the wall, he came to a heavy metal door that appeared to be almost the same colour as the wall itself. In fact, Harry was sure it was crafted so that passers-by would not notice there was a door there in the first place, and if Harry hadn't been looking so intently, he might have missed it.

Filled with burning curiosity, Harry pushed open the door and walked inside. The smell of old parchment hit him first, while his eyes fought to adjust to the absence of light. What was this place?

Harry took a moment to turn back out and grab a flaming torch off the stone wall before venturing back into the room. He held in a gasp as he beheld a room the size of Draco's chambers that long ago seemed to be a gallery of sorts. Numerous portraits hung off the wall of stern and dignified looking men, with women—who Harry assumed were their wives—beside them, and children in front of them.

He took a closer look at the portrait nearest him and realised the date engraved along the lower border of the golden frame dated back about a thousand years. Above the date were the words: _King Alistair and Queen Celeste, and their children, Prince Tarquin and Princess Arianne_.

Directly beside it was the portrait of another family, dating approximately twenty-five years after the first. Their names were: _King Tarquin and Queen Eunice, with their children, Prince Rufus and Prince Edgar._

Harry realised immediately this was a gallery of all the royal families of Slytherin for the past millennium. Remembering that Draco had said the Malfoys weren't the actual Heirs of Slytherin, Harry assumed that was why this place had been hidden. Obviously, Lucius Malfoy didn't want to be reminded of the evidence that he was not the rightful successor to the Throne.

Brimming with curiosity, Harry made his way down to the far end of the gallery, wanting to see the latest addition to the gallery and who the actual Heir was.

He lifted his torch to look upon the faces and names of the last legitimate royal family. The King and Queen looked just as regal and stately as any of the others, but Harry's eyes froze on the Prince, as his mouth and eyes slowly opened in shock.

Unless Harry was utterly mistaken, the Prince in this portrait looked exactly like ...

He shook his head quickly and read the description.

_King Fredrick and Queen Penelope, with their son, Prince James._

Harry stepped back, stunned, feeling goosebumps trail down his spine.

"James?" he whispered to himself, frowning in shocked confusion. "No ..."

Harry glanced back at the portrait and returned his gaze to the King's son. It couldn't be denied. The Prince looked eerily like him. And Harry's father's name had been James.

Another coincidence?

Then, uncalled for, Harry once again remembered Remus' words. _"The longer this matter goes on, the closer Harry gets to the truth about his connection to Slytherin"._

Harry realised he was breathing heavily and the torch in his hand was trembling. Was this his connection?

"No ..." Harry breathed again, suddenly horrified that his entire life had been one big lie.

Unable to stand it anymore, Harry spun around and fled the gallery.

-mp-

_Next Chapter: An excerpt to whet your appetites …_

Draco extended his neck and allowing Harry's mouth to claim it. "Just one night, Harry," he whispered.

Harry groaned with both arms enclosed around Draco as he hungrily gave into his kisses. "You drive me mad," he said, before devouring Draco's mouth once more, while the rest of his body pressed tightly against Draco's.

_Was that cruel?_


	31. Forbidden Fruit

_A/N: To all you who wanted an M-rated story, eat your hearts out! _

_So, yes, __**major chapter warning**__ for this one. __**NC-17**__ content. If you're not comfortable with adult scenes and you can feel your heart rate start rising as you read the parts where Harry and Draco are alone together, skip down to the end!_

-mp-

Chapter 30

**Forbidden Fruit**

Thoughts of his father and the portraits in the hidden gallery were shoved into the back of Harry's mind when he spotted Astoria Greengrass waving happily to the gathered guests beside her husband-to-be, while the King and Queen made the announcement to the world of Draco's impending marriage.

Already in a bad mood, this only served to make it a thousand times worse, and Harry made sure to hide himself in the shadows of the Great Hall so that no one important could see him seething with jealousy and rage. The urge to shoot an arrow directly into her chest was clawing at him. Harry didn't bother questioning where his sudden fury toward Astoria and possessiveness toward Draco had sprung from; he just knew he felt it deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to be by Draco's side, but he knew he couldn't be. Earlier, Draco had warned Harry to stay away from him, lest his father see of their attraction towards each other.

It wasn't easy, either. Not when Draco looked absolutely phenomenal.

When Draco had stepped out of his chambers earlier, Harry had stopped short. He was seconds away from pulling Draco back into the room and kissing the life out of him, when he realised Draco's servant was still nearby. He was barely able to contain his desire while he escorted Draco to the Great Hall. They parted ways at the entrance and Harry had gone to prowl miserably through the hundreds of guests all milling about in their best attire.

It struck Harry as entirely odd that the one reason all these people were here in the first place was because of _his_ victory, yet none of them seemed to recognise who he was and no one seemed to care. As far as they were all concerned, the victory today had been all about the Empire.

He supposed he didn't mind, especially when he was able to sneak into the corners of the room and scowl to himself, while he watched Draco being forced to give Astoria a kiss on the cheek to the complete delight of everyone present sans himself and Harry. Harry's finger had tightened on the hilt of his sword.

The entire celebration seemed to drag on and Harry's only solace was watching Draco in all his stunning glory. He appeared graceful and elegant and perfectly poised throughout the evening and Harry had inwardly smirked, remembering how Draco's blond hair had been mussed and his appearance had been flushed earlier when they had kissed. Harry decided that he wished he could do that right then and there, in front of all the guests. Their faces would be priceless.

Still, Harry knew his place, so he remained in the shadows, watching Draco intently from a distance but wanting nothing more than to be alone with him. He felt a small jolt in his stomach when he realised that later on, he could do exactly that.

-mp-

The King's eyes roamed over the merriment of his guests before and he relaxed a little on his Throne. Now that Draco's engagement was announced in public, there would be no more foolishness from him and his insufferable bodyguard. In fact, Lucius was considering getting rid of Draco's guard entirely. The man had done his duty protecting Draco from Durmstrang's spies. There was no more reason to have him be around Draco. Getting rid of the bodyguard would allay all his concerns and Draco would have no more reason to cross him.

As he watched, the King did a double-take when he saw the subject at hand—Draco's bodyguard—almost hidden in the far corner of the Great Hall, his eyes unblinking as he watched Draco keenly following him as he danced around the floor. That bodyguard and his son had far too much interest in each other than was appropriate, the King mused angrily.

With this in mind, the King made a decision. He would have Draco's bodyguard killed. How, he wasn't sure yet. He could decide that tomorrow.

-mp-

It was well past midnight before the celebrations died down. The King and Queen had retired a few hours ago, and with them, the guests slowly began to depart.

Draco and Astoria were forced to remain to chat amiably with well-wishers and friends, and so Harry, too, stayed where he was, his eyes locked on Draco as it had been the entire night. It was almost unbearable to wait much longer to be alone with the blond. Just then, Draco looked up from the conversation he was in to briefly make eye contact with Harry, and send him an almost unnoticeable look that told Harry he wanted the same thing. Harry's blood surged.

Turning back to his conversation, Harry overheard Draco say courteously, "Thank you for all your wishes, Lord Bletchley. Now if you will excuse me, I would very much like to retire. All these celebrations appeared to have exhausted me."

Harry's heart leapt—he had been waiting to hear those words all night.

"Of course, Your Highness," the nobleman replied as he bowed his head. "Until next time."

Draco nodded briefly before spinning on his heels and ambling out. Following his actions, Harry began to move towards the door. His heart sank when he saw Astoria follow Draco. _Bloody, stupid, conniving—!_

"Astoria, what are you doing?" Draco asked her when they had reached the double-door grand entrance into the ballroom. Harry craned his neck to listen, still keeping himself hidden near the shadows.

"Leaving with my husband," she answered with a horrible little laugh.

Draco froze. "We're not married," he reminded her with a tense jaw.

"We might as well be! Everyone knows now!" She laughed breathlessly. "Princess of Slytherin!" she declared of herself, cuddling his arm possessively. "Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

_No_, Harry decided.

Draco carefully took the hand she had placed on his arm and pushed it away from himself. "Astoria, you're not a Princess and you're not my wife."

"Not yet, anyway."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Well until then, stay out of my way," Draco snapped at her, before pointedly looking away from her and continuing his exit, leaving her behind.

Smirking, Harry watched Astoria _humph_ angrily, before she gathered her skirts and left as well, going in the opposite direction that Draco took. Harry took the opportunity to steal out of the room silently, looking about him to make sure no one was giving him untoward looks, and rush upstairs, following the path Draco had taken.

-mp-

Having rushed up the stairs to get to his room, Draco was panting heavily as he swiftly entered into his chambers and tossed his outer robe somewhere out of sight. He then stood in anticipation at the doorway, knowing that Harry would be seconds behind him. Draco felt a forbidden wave of desire caress him, and he smiled to himself. They'd both be killed if anyone knew about them, but that was what made it so bloody enticing.

_Come on, Harry, _he silently urged his bodyguard, looking down the corridor and listening out for the tell-tale sounds of Harry's footsteps.

The looks Harry kept sending him all throughout the Ball tonight had been maddening, as if Harry could hardly contain the urge to march right up to him, shove Astoria to the side and take Draco in his arms. It made Draco feel sinfully wanted.

Footsteps.

Harry was near.

Draco grinned.

Seconds later, Harry appeared coming towards him and they instantly made eye contact down the hallway, which sent shivers through Draco. Even so, neither of them made any other actions, and Draco waited in anticipation the last few steps until Harry reached the door and Draco shut it behind him, leaving them alone.

In a flash, Harry had his hands grasping at Draco's arm, pulling him in close.

"Hello," he whispered with a smile, leaning his forehead against Draco's.

Draco could feel his heart warm with affection. He returned the smile, watching Harry's face so close and eager as it looked into his. "Hello."

"I hope you don't mind if I kiss you," Harry said with a tone a voice that said he was itching to do so.

Draco's smile grew. "Not at—"

Harry drove his lips hard into Draco's and claimed his mouth.

Draco's knees instantly weakened by the force of Harry's body and his impatience, but he eagerly joined in the kiss and pressed back, secretly enjoying the illicitness of what they were doing. They were a tangle of arms and lips. Harry's hands were roving across his back, while his were buried deep in Harry's hair, making more of a mess of his black locks than usual.

Draco's pulse was so fast it was probably unhealthy. Everything about this man screamed for some kind of response from Draco. Ever since walking out of his chambers earlier that evening and seeing Harry wearing his polished armour with an emerald cape hanging behind him, Draco's mouth had gone dry and he decided he'd never thought Harry looked more attractive. But now as he lowered one hand to Harry's shoulder and felt the smooth metal plates that covered his upper arms, Draco wondered how on earth you possibly took it off.

"Bloody Astoria," he heard Harry murmur in between kisses, and Draco grinned. Harry must obviously have been inwardly seething at the thought of the obnoxious girl, which made Draco incredibly happy.

"Forget her," he replied, nipping at Harry's lips. "She doesn't exist."

"I wish." Harry separated their mouths, but staying close enough that their noses still touched.

This close, Harry's eyes were mesmerising; a shade of green not found anywhere else. And they were looking at Draco with so much intensity, he felt like nothing else on earth existed but the two of them.

"Don't marry her," Harry whispered.

Draco smiled sadly as he felt emotionally torn—desire and despair took post alongside each other in his heart, but all he wanted to do was forget everyone and everything apart from he and Harry and enjoy their forbidden fruit.

"Shhh. Come with me," he urged in a whisper, holding Harry's hand and leading him to his inner room, while his heart raced wildly and the palm that was joined with Harry's flared with heat.

"Draco," Harry said, planting his feet on the ground to stop their movement when he realised Draco was leading Harry towards his bedroom.

Draco turned to face him and pleaded with his eyes. "Don't say no," he whispered, he himself not knowing where such a deep desire for Harry was coming from; deep enough to invite this man into his inner bedchamber and do unspeakable things with him.

Harry's eyes searched his. "We can't," he breathed. "Draco, it's not ..."

"I know ... But give me this, Harry." Draco stepped up close to him and caressed Harry's lips with his.

"I want to," Harry admitted, nuzzling his nose in Draco's ear and soft hair. "I want _you_." Draco felt a stab of lust in him. "But this is wrong. You're not meant for me." Despite his words, Harry began licking and sucking on the side of Draco's neck.

"Yes, I am," Draco corrected. He extended his neck and allowing Harry's mouth to claim it. "Just one night, Harry," he whispered.

Harry groaned with both arms enclosed around Draco as he hungrily gave into his kisses. "You drive me mad," he said before devouring Draco's mouth once more, while the rest of his body pressed tightly against Draco's.

Draco moaned softly when he felt Harry's arousal against his leg, and he knew there was no turning back. "Come with me," he urged again, pulling Harry towards his bed.

Harry didn't protest this time, but followed Draco was primal intensity in his darkened eyes that made Draco feel wanted like no other.

They got on the enormous bed, Draco pulling Harry down on top of him, and kissing him for all he was worth. It was wickedly intoxicating, having the weight of another man on top of him. A solid warmth he couldn't escape from. It was unheard of. Draco knew he would take this secret to the grave.

"Wait," Harry murmured against his lips, before standing up and ripping off his thick black gloves, hastily unbuckling the leather straps holding his armour in place and pulling off the heavy metal plates that covered his shoulders and arms. He was left in just his undershirt and breeches and Draco's eyes dilated with want.

Following Harry, Draco made to take off his outer clothes, shrugging out of his royal green doublet and tossing it on the side of the bed. Harry climbed back on the top and pressed the length of his body against Draco's, making both of them moan at the friction against their desires. He slid his hands over Harry's muscular back and arms, marvelling at the strength and power in them. He was filled with warmth remembering that earlier that day Harry had defeated a giant for him. For him. No one else. Draco selfishly wanted all of Harry's attention and care and he knew that had it right this moment.

Little by little, their clothing disappeared, until Draco rested completely bare under Harry, feeling his bodyguard's hardened arousal pressing pleasurably against his. He arched into the contact, bending his spine inward.

"My god …" Harry groaned, staring down at his naked body, his eyes now completely black, his lips swollen red. Draco was certain no one ever looked so filled with lust before.

Staring up at the expanse of Harry's body, his skin slightly darkened by the sun, covering bulges of muscle, Draco nearly swooned.

"Harry," he whispered, capturing his mouth again and feeling himself harden even more with the pleasure of their kiss.

He was mad with desire and he wanted to commit everything to memory, knowing they had stolen this night and that he would probably never have Harry like this again.

"You're beautiful," Harry whispered in his ear, running his hands up and down Draco's sides, tracing his outline against the white sheets while his mouth licked and nipped near Draco's ear.

Flushing with happiness, Draco gently caught Harry's head and pulled him back until they were breaths were mixed and gazes were joined.

The overwhelming intensity in Harry's gaze struck a deep chord within Draco. He felt utterly exposed, but he wasn't scared. He wanted Harry to see him like this; like no one ever had before.

He bit his lip, which caused Harry to crane his neck and nip at him. "Make love to me," he breathed almost silently, his heart escalating wildly.

Harry paused his movements and took a long moment to look into Draco. The rise and fall of Harry's chest pressed against Draco. "I want to ... You have no idea. But what if they—"

"They won't." Draco lifted both his arms and began sliding them over Harry's shoulders, wanting to pull him down into a kiss. "No one will know."

But Harry resisted and held himself up over him. "Draco," he began.

"Don't deny me this. Don't deny me what I want," Draco said softly, pleading with his eyes.

Harry breathed out slowly, like the last of his resistance was drifting away, like leaves in the wind. "I can't deny you anymore than myself," he admitted. "I ache for you, Draco." He pressed his lower body down into Draco's, letting both their arousals crush each other. "I'd do … I'd give anything for you."

"Give me you. All of you."

Again, Harry's patience snapped and he bent his neck, devouring Draco's mouth like he owned it. Breath abandoned him and Draco felt desired and wanted and lusted for. He separated his legs and cradled Harry's body between them, feeling fire shoot down his spine.

It was wrong, but so very right.

Draco's desire was hard as he trembled with pleasure under Harry, holding Harry's head close to his neck as Harry kissed and licked at him, while his hips starting rocking into Draco.

Draco cried out. "Harry …" The sensations were ecstasy. He pushed his own body up to meet Harry and saw stars explode behind his eyes. He didn't even realise he'd closed them.

Then, when Harry reached down and caught Draco's erection in his hand for the first time, Draco's eyes shot open. "Oh!" he gasped loudly. He saw Harry grinning at him, fire and authority in his eyes. "Harry, what—" Draco stopped speaking immediately, partly because he was scared he'd say something stupid, and partly because the feeling of having Harry palm him was unbelievable. He would never have imagined how intense it would be. Never before had he had someone else's hands on him, and Draco was thanking the fates that Harry was his first. He didn't know what the man's own past was like, but Draco didn't care to ask. Either way, he was playing Draco's body like an expert.

Harry obviously decided this wasn't enough and he inched his hand lower past Draco's erection to a place so intimate Draco himself hadn't touched.

"Harry!" he blurted in a cry, his entire body jerking as if trying to get away from the touch. He saw Harry's captivated eyes watching him intently and felt himself flush hot under the scrutiny. As he felt Harry's finger dare to brush against his opening, Draco screwed his eyes shut and moaned.

"God, Draco, you're driving me wild," Harry breathed as he watched Draco arch his spine in pleasure.

All Draco knew was the _he_ was the one being driven wild. "Harry … Harry … what are you doing?" he asked, breathing hard, his mind melting.

Harry let out a short chuckle, trailing his fingers. Every minute movement of his fingertips made a thousand nerves inside Draco erupt in sensation. "Are you complaining?"

"No!" Draco blurted, feeling the motions of Harry's laugh press on top of him. A spark of mischief shot through Draco and he sorted his mind into some semblance of organisation enough to say, "But let's see how you do."

Without hesitation, Draco reached and curled his own hand around Harry this time. The look of instant pleasure on Harry's face was worth every forbidden act they were doing. "Sweet … god …." Harry groaned.

Draco, meanwhile, felt himself harden even more at the first touch of Harry's impressive manhood. Thick, red and hard, Draco could almost feel Harry's heartbeat through it. Lust and desire overtook him. He watched Harry's expressions and almost swallowed his tongue at the look of green intensity piercing him. Harry was looking at him like he was the only other person left alive in the world. Loving the attention, Draco flushed and moved his palm up and down, feeling every quivering inch of Harry's hardened member.

"This will end far sooner than you think if you keep doing that," Harry warned, slightly breathless.

Draco laughed and pulled Harry down for a hard kiss, tangling their tongues. He regretfully let go of Harry's erection and brought his now two free hands up to play with Harry's hair. Harry resettled between Draco's legs, and pulled out of the kiss.

Unhappy with separating, Draco pouted. "Kiss me," he requested with a playful frown.

"I have been."

"More."

Harry laughed. "Wait, you impatient prat."

"Calling me names will get you nowhere," Draco said pettily.

"Nowhere? Really? Not even here?" Harry finger's brushed against Draco's entrance once more.

Draco gasped and grasped Harry's biceps. "God … warn me before you—" Harry did it again, a wicked grin adorning his face. Draco hissed and writhed at the touch. "That's … that's good …" Draco blushed at his own words, but Harry didn't seem to mind. In fact, his grin expanded.

Harry murmured, "But we're going to need—"

"In the drawer behind you." Draco felt himself go redder at the words escaping his mouth before he could put thought behind them.

Harry twisted around, chuckling while he retrieved a small bottled container. Draco took this opportunity to silently berate himself. Yes, he was nervous and extremely enthusiastic, but that didn't mean he could act like a blushing virg— Draco paused. That's exactly what he was. He decided not to dwell on this thought any longer.

Harry turned back. "_Now_ I'll kiss you," he declared with a grin, capturing Draco's mouth and taking over it completely. Draco moaned into it. He could feel Harry smile. Again, he lifted his arms and locked them around Harry, playing with his black locks.

Then, Harry's questing fingers returned, but this time they were cooler.

"Wha—mmph!"

Harry's mouth pressed harder into him, forbidding Draco to speak as his gelled finger brushed against Draco's entrance carefully, dipping daringly down. His mouth thoroughly and effectively occupied, Draco couldn't respond vocally to the feeling of one of Harry's fingers carefully breaching his entrance, although he knew he would have moaned out loud. Instead, his fingers dug into Harry's arms and his toes curled in the sheets.

Even with the tip of one finger in him, Draco felt wholly open to Harry. It should have been invasive and uncomfortable, but Draco craved it. As Harry stretched him open, he wanted more.

Harry obliged. A second finger entered him, a spark of pain accompanying it. Draco ignored the ache, and focused on the sensation of having a part of Harry inside him. Bending his knees, he opened more of himself and he heard and felt Harry groan in approval in their kiss. Draco pulled away and breathed harshly. "You're killing me …"

"Never."

Draco fingers latched onto Harry's hair as he felt another finger squeeze inside him. "Oh, my god." He arched his neck and back, eyes rolling up into his skull.

"Bloody hell," Harry murmured, watching Draco with unblinking eyes. "You look …"

Draco never found out what he looked like—but he assumed it was good—because, almost as if he couldn't help himself, Harry dove down again and kissed the breath out of him. Draco moaned, drawing Harry closer, if it were possible. His three fingers were still embedded inside and although he could feel a throbbing ache, he didn't care. They moved in and out slowly, preparing him steadily, gaining speed. Draco pulled his mouth away from the kiss to gasp. "Harry … don't stop …"

"Merlin, the sounds you make," Harry breathed. "You're insatiable."

Harry spent a few more long moments sliding his fingers inside Draco, watched him writhe lithely, before carefully easing his digits out to lean back to prepare himself, lathering the cool gel all over his manhood. Draco could only watch, his heart thudding loudly in his ears, all his blood directed south to his erection.

The sight of Harry jerking himself, getting himself ready, was unbelievably erotic. Draco's eyes darkened to a stormy grey. The reality hit him then.

They were really doing this.

Against all propriety, breaking every law, he and Harry were about pledge themselves to each other in the most intimate way.

Draco felt almost giddy with the anticipation, but it surprised him to realise he felt none of the guilt. In his head, he knew it was wrong, but in his heart, it was the purest, most perfect thing in the world.

Harry looked at him and shot him a cheeky grin. "Hope you're not bored over there."

Draco grinned and shamelessly watched Harry's hand coating his erection. "Just enjoying the view."

Harry's thorough gaze swept all over Draco, and with his legs still splayed open and not a stitch of clothing on, Draco felt wonderfully voyeuristic. "Me too," Harry agreed, winking at him.

Draco blushed, which was bizarre, all things considered.

Harry finished readying himself and crawled back forward and until his face hovered right above Draco's. "And I must say the view is absolutely stunning."

Draco preened, his fingers toying with Harry's ears and nape. "Is it?"

"Mmhmm," came the deep sound from inside Harry. "Your eyes, your hair, your body, your legs … _all_ of you. All mine." Harry licked his lower lip.

Draco's heart leapt at his intimate words and felt it double in speed when he felt Harry's hands gentle nudge his legs further apart and press his hardness right onto Draco's entrance.

"Are you sure about this?"

How Harry thought that Draco's answer could be anything but a _yes_ was beyond him. "Yes," he answered breathlessly.

The muscles in Harry's legs pushed him forward. Draco closed his eyes hard and hissed, inwardly screaming at himself to relax and let Harry in. It hurt, yes, but when he opened his eyes and saw the look in Harry's eyes, he forced himself to yield totally to him.

"Oh!" he gasped into the room when Harry's erection slipped inside him. He dug his fingers into Harry's arms who paused immediately, letting out a long groan of interrupted satisfaction. Draco knew it couldn't be easy for him, and was grateful to be doing this with the one person who always put Draco above himself.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his voice husky and breathless.

Draco couldn't help but smile despite the ache. "Almost. Hurts a little."

Harry nipped at his lips. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I'm not." Draco cradled Harry's jaw with his hand. "You feel amazing."

Harry took Draco's mouth in a fuller kiss and when they pulled away, Draco motioned for him to move deeper until Harry was fully inside him, and Draco felt intimately known by him.

"So good …" Harry rested his sweaty forehead against Draco's while his lower body began subtle thrusting motions.

Draco's toes curled at the sensation of Harry's erection moving within him. It overtook him, fulfilled every part of him. Draco made sure to remember everything about this moment.

The deep, guttural sounds he made.

The strength in his arms.

The passion behind his kisses.

Everything was stored greedily in Draco's mind and he selfishly wished no one else on earth would ever get to see Harry so undone like this. Draco safeguarded this ultimate pleasure within him, locking it in his heart. He would rather have died than denied himself such bliss. Here, under Harry, in his arms, surrounding him, Draco felt safe.

"Harry… oh, god … yes …" he moaned for none but Harry to hear, feeling pleasure blaze a trail down his spine and through all nerves until his very fingertips were burning with ecstasy.

"You are mine," he heard Harry whisper harshly in his ear, before biting it gently.

Lust spiked hard. Draco felt like he was on the edge of a cliff.

Then … he _screamed_.

Bliss flooded his body in waves. Over and over and over again until he forgot his own name and his limbs fell weak.

Moments later, Harry followed him, plunging over the edge, gasping out Draco's name and sealing their connection eternally. They might be damned, but in this moment, Draco knew it was worth it.

-mp-

Harry's inner body clock made him wake up at five in the morning, knowing he needed to get to his training at the Square. He pried his eyes open and was about to let out a startled gasp at the unfamiliar surroundings when he remembered what had happened last night.

_Draco_.

He turned his head to the left and saw him, sleeping silently beside him, curled into a pillow. It was almost surreal. Harry could hardly believe what happened just a few hours ago in this bed. He smiled and gently brushed his fingers along Draco's bare upper arm that felt like silk. Harry revelled in the feeling that he was the first person ever to be able to see Draco like this; blond hair sticking up in random tufts, a sheet half draped over him, revealing parts of him that would have made Harry blush before last night. Now, though, Harry drank in the sight of him and dearly wished the blanket was pulled away entirely so he could see the rest of him.

Draco was stunning. Harry was sure the memory of his lithe body wouldn't ever leave him. He felt his heart start to race and his groin start to react as he remembered the way Draco moved beneath him, clenching his fingers and throwing his head back in pleasure.

If he was honest with himself, Harry hadn't even known that the sight of another man could ever be arousing. It was unheard of. Men belonged with women. But Harry couldn't deny that Draco made him feel things no woman ever could. He wished last night didn't have to be a one-time occurrence. If Harry had his way, he'd have Draco in his bed every night.

But the cold fact was that they both had their duties to perform that would take them down separate paths. Draco would one day be King, with a Queen alongside him, and Harry ... well ... Harry supposed he'd go back to Hufflepuff eventually.

Sighing to wave off feelings of sorrow, Harry carefully shoved the sheets off him and slid off the bed, watching Draco to make sure he didn't wake up. But Draco made a soft noise in his throat and began to shuffle. A frown appeared on his face as one arm crept over to where Harry just was, feeling around for him. Harry smiled.

"—rry ..." Draco mumbled as he was waking up.

"Shhh," Harry whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"Harry," Draco mumbled again, clearer this time, his face muscle squinting as his eyes opened. "Where are—"

"Go back to sleep," Harry repeated softly. "I have to go."

"Where?" Draco asked in his sleep-heavy voice that made Harry's heart melt a little.

"Training."

This made Draco frown as he struggled to sit upright and force his mind into wakened thoughts. "Training?" Draco echoed, looking at Harry through squinted eyes. "Why?"

Harry forced his eyes off Draco's nude torso and licked his dry lips before answering, "I have to. I go every morning."

Draco tilted his head to the side and Harry could tell he was a little put out. "Harry, you killed a giant yesterday," he reminded Harry. "I doubt they'll be upset if you miss a day."

Harry was sure he then saw Draco pout a little and decided it was the most endearing thing he had ever seen. "But—"

"Stay with me," Draco suggested instead, and Harry decided it was a much better idea than going to training, particularly when there was a promise of a warm, naked Draco involved.

"You're lucky I'm so obsessed with you, otherwise I'd have gone by now," Harry muttered, slipping back into bed. He swore his heart didn't nearly jump out of his mouth when Draco sidled up to him and rested his blond head of Harry's shoulder.

"Definitely lucky," Draco muttered. Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "This is _much_ better than hanging around a bunch of sweaty men."

"Instead I'm around just _one_ sweaty man," Harry said with a smirk.

Draco gently hit him on the chest. "I'm not sweaty," he argued. "You're the one who was doing most of the ..." he blushed "... moving."

Harry laughed. "Yes, and you just lay back like the royal, lazy prat you are."

Draco straightened his spine and turned to look at Harry with a dangerously calm expression on his face. "Lazy, am I?"

"Maybe."

"May I remind you that talking ill of royalty can get you killed?"

"You don't want me killed," Harry teased. "You want me very much alive so I can _move_ and be _sweaty_ once more."

Draco's eyes went dark. "Not this time."

"No?"

"You do realise that by insinuating I'm lazy, I'm now going to do _exactly_ the opposite," Draco remarked.

"And what's that?"

"Lie back," Draco ordered him with an evil look in his eye.

Harry's smile grew he slowly slid down the bed until he was horizontal, all the while keeping eye contact. He placed his arms behind his head and made a show of finding a comfortable position in which he could watch Draco. Teasingly, he began to ask, "What did you have in—?"

He immediately stopped talking when Draco got up and slid one of his pale legs over Harry's torso and straddled him. Harry's mouth dropped at the vision before him; _sitting on top of him_.

"Better?" Draco asked with a mischievous smile.

Harry could only nod dumbly, deciding that _yes_, this indeed was better than anything else that ever existed on earth. Lowering his arms from behind his head, he gently placed them on Draco's hips.

Draco was all skin, grinning down at him with near-black eyes while he bit his lip in thought, as if pondering what the best way was to pounce on Harry. Harry didn't care, as long as Draco did something soon, because he was fairly certain he had never been this hard before in his life.

"Now, you just lie back, you _lazy_ prat, and let me do all the _moving_."

Never before had Harry heard a better idea.

The sun had just cleared the horizon when Draco returned to the circle of Harry's arms, both of them sated and pleasantly tired.

"I'll never have enough of you," Harry murmured, gently kissing the top of Draco's head and feeling him shuffle even closer. His heart swelled at his closeness.

Draco was silent for a long time and Harry was certain he had fallen back to sleep. But then he heard Draco murmur, "I wish we could really do this."

"This?" Harry echoed.

"Us. A relationship. One that wouldn't have us both killed."

Harry sighed. "Don't think about that now."

Again, Draco dropped into silence and Harry was content to just lay there with Draco half draped over him and gently caressing his fingertips over Draco's shoulder, while Draco's own hand idly ran over Harry's chest, stirring pleasantly numbing feelings within him.

He heard Draco sigh, before he muttered, "Azkaban."

Harry stopped moving his fingers. "What?"

"Do you know of it?"

Frowning, Harry wondered what Draco could possibly mean. "The prison?"

"Yes."

"I've only heard about it from stories. I don't even know if it's real," Harry admitted, recalling tales he'd heard as a young boy of a prison so horrible, it sucked your very soul away. "Why do you ask?"

"That's where they're keeping your friend," Draco murmured.

Harry sucked in a breath. _Remus. _"He's in ... Azkaban?" he got out, frowning in bafflement.

"I found out yesterday," was all Draco said.

"Where is it?" Harry asked, thinking about his guardian stuck in that horrifying place.

"A little ways off the western coast," Draco replied. Then, in an almost silent whisper, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't ask about it before, Harry."

"It's okay. Thank you for asking now."

Draco got up on his arms and faced Harry for a long moment. Harry could tell there was something on his mind. "Is it wrong of me to be so selfish of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"There was a part of me that didn't want to tell you ... because then you'd be thinking of your past life instead of me," Draco said honestly, burrowing his silvery eyes in Harry. He gave a humourless laugh. "I just want you all to myself."

"I could never not think of you," Harry replied. "Believe me, you are on my mind for every second of every day. I can't even comprehend that I didn't know you two months ago. You've taken over my whole life and I can't imagine it without you now." Harry smiled, softly stroking Draco's cheek. "So if you're being selfish, I'm a thousand times worse. I wish you were mine."

Draco closed his eyes and Harry wasn't surprised to see a tear fall out.

-mp-

Lord Nott scowled as he surveyed the Square, watching his men train with narrowed eyes and curled upper lip. Tardiness was absolutely unaccepted in his battalion, and truanting was most definitely punishable. As he cast his vision around, he began to think of ways he could teach the Hufflepuff a lesson for failing to turn up to his daily early morning training.

"Zabini!" he growled at the dark-skinned man placing an arrow in his bow.

He turned and immediately stood to attention. "Yes, Sir?"

"Where's that Hufflepuff?"

Zabini looked at him in confusion. "Hufflepuff, sir?"

Nott rolled his eyes and sneered. "_Harry_," he clarified with a bad taste in his mouth.

A look of understanding came across the soldier's face, before being replaced by bewilderment once more. "I'm not sure, sir. I haven't seen him today."

Grimacing, Nott turned away from the soldier, silently dismissing him. He motioned for a nearby servant boy. "You there!" he barked. The boy jumped up, startled, staring at the battle master with wide eyes and trembling limbs. "I want you to go to the Hufflepuff's room, wake him up and _get his arse down here_!"

The boy's voice shook with fear. "Th-the Hufflepuff, s-sir?"

Nott growled; nostrils flaring. "_Harry, _you idiot!" he snapped.

Jumping at the tone of Nott's voice, the boy quickly squeaked, "yes, sir," before scuttling off in the direction of the Castle.

The servant returned a quarter of an hour later, huffing and panting like he'd run to Ravenclaw and back.

Nott rounded on him. "Well, speak!"

"He wasn't there, sir," the boy gushed out.

"What do you mean he wasn't there?"

"I looked inside, sir, and I didn't see him ..." he reported, then he started looking around fearfully, while wringing his hands in trepidation, as if he wasn't revealing something.

"What else?" ordered Nott.

"His ... his bed wasn't slept in either, sir," he stammered, continuing to fiddle with his fingers in anxiety.

Nott frowned, cursing the Hufflepuff to hell and back. "Blast," he swore. Then he looked at the boy once more. "Get out of my sight."

The boy scampered away and grimacing, Nott strode into the Castle. The King had warned him a few days ago that if he ever noticed Draco's bodyguard doing unsightly things, he would report him immediately.

"My Lord," he said with a deep bow before the King as he swept into the Throne Room, eager to share his information.

"Yes, Nott?" the King asked, signing off on a form being held out for him and ushering his attendants away. "What is it?"

"It's the Prince's bodyguard, sir."

The King sat up straighter in his Throne. "What about him?"

"He was not at his mandatory training this morning," he informed. "I sent a boy to check on him, but I was told he wasn't in his room, and his bed wasn't slept in either. I have my men searching all over the Castle for him as we speak, but no word yet."

"Indeed," the King said while in thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. "One could only wonder where he is." He sat back and remained still for a long pause, slowly stroking the arm rest of his Throne. "Nott, I want you and your men to check on my son. Go to his chambers and make sure he is fine. Then I want you to bring him to me ... alone. I wish to speak with him. If and when you find his bodyguard, bring him to the antechamber and await my signal. Understood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Harry and Draco are brought before the King. Angst alert._


	32. The Price to Pay

Chapter 31

**The**** Price to Pay**

It was Harry who heard the footsteps first. Immediately, he sprang out of the bed.

"What is it?" Draco asked in alarm.

"Someone's coming," Harry said, hurriedly grabbing the parts of his armour close by. "I'll be in my room."

Draco had enough mind to quickly jump out and push all his strewn clothes under the bed and shrug a pair of breeches, boots and his tunic on him. He quickly ran a hand through his mussed hair before he heard a knock on his door.

"Who is it?" he drawled in his usual tone, while fighting to control his heart rate.

"It's Nott, Your Highness," came the gruff reply.

Draco's eyes went wide, and a horrible sense of foreboding fell on him, but he moved to the entrance, schooled his features into one of annoyance and dragged his door open. "Yes?" he huffed.

"Your father sent me to ensure you are well."

Draco looked at him oddly. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Do you happen to know where your bodyguard is?"

Inwardly, Draco felt chains of fear seize him, but he maintained his irritated front. "Traipsing across the Nullius, perhaps? Swimming in the ocean?" he posed sarcastically. "How should I know?"

Nott didn't appear fazed by Draco's derision. "He wasn't at training this morning."

"Well, perhaps he's asleep," Draco said with mockery. "He did kill a giant yesterday. That's enough to make any man tired. Even you, Nott."

"We checked his room. He wasn't there."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. "Really?" he said, mind stalling.

"Really."

"Well, maybe you just didn't look hard enough. Why don't you look again?"

Nott barely held in his contempt before ordering one of his soldiers to knock hard on Harry's door. Draco' heart was in his mouth, waiting for Harry to open the door. Hopefully, he would had enough creativity to come out looking tired, like he had just woken up.

Eventually, Harry opened the door, and Draco could have melted with relief when he saw Harry yawn. But then Harry snapped to attention when he saw who it was. "Sir," he said by way of greeting. Then he forced himself to look a little sheepish. "I overslept."

"Clearly," Nott sneered sardonically. Then he turned his attention back to Draco. "Your father would like to speak with you. Alone."

"Why?"

"He didn't say. He's waiting for you in the Throne Room."

Draco swallowed and felt that same foreboding from before surface inside him. He surreptitiously cast a look at Harry before declaring, "Well, then I suppose I must leave."

"I suppose," Nott said with a curled upper lip.

Keeping his fear and anxiety in check, Draco confidently strode down the hallway, away from the small entourage of people, all too aware that he was leaving Harry in the hands of a man who seemed to know more than he should.

He just hoped Harry would be alright.

-mp-

"Overslept, eh?"

Harry blinked and hoped he could lie convincingly. "Yes, sorry. Yesterday's Tournament took a lot out of me."

Nott eyed him like he didn't believe a word he was saying. "Then why is it that when we checked your room about an hour earlier, we didn't see you?"

Harry could have sword his heart beat suddenly became audible and he just caught himself from noticeably widening his eyes in fear. "You checked my room?" he asked dumbly.

Nott nodded succinctly, looking incredibly smug.

"I _was_ sleeping," was all Harry could think of saying, even though he knew it sounded pathetic. He silently wished Draco was still there; he always had an uncanny ability to pull himself out of any mess credibly.

"You are, without fail, the worst liar I've ever seen," Nott remarked casually, and Harry had to agree with him. Ron had always told him he could never tell a believable lie. "Did you know that lying to me can get you killed?"

Harry swallowed and grappled with his mind to find appropriate words, but nothing would be right. Anything he said right now would condemn him as a liar. So he remained quiet and hoped Nott would move on.

"Come with me," Nott spat at him.

"Where?"

Nott didn't answer his question. Instead he said, "Put some clothes on."

Although a terrible feeling washed through Harry, he knew he couldn't disobey. He quickly shrugged on his clothes, wishing he could take his sword as well, but something about Nott's demeanour told Harry he wouldn't be allowed a weapon.

When he was dressed, two of Nott's soldiers came on either side of Harry and led him away, Nott leading them stoically away from his room. Harry took it in silently, hoping that he could worm his way out of any situation they put him in.

They led him to what seemed like the far side of the Castle in a modestly sized room that, at first glance, served little purpose. Harry couldn't tell what they were doing here. He had thought they would have taken him to the Square, or maybe even the dungeons, but certainly not this elegantly decorated room. Slytherin green drapery framed the large windows overlooking the gardens outside, while a massive candle-lit chandelier hung from the gold trimmed ceiling. Nott and his duo of guards had yet to leave him, and Harry was too cautious to ask. He kept his mouth shut but his eyes wide open.

While his eyes were searching for potential escape routes should the situation allow for it, Harry suddenly felt the soldiers at his side grab his arms harder and force them behind him.

"Hey!" Harry expelled, looking left and right, realising they were holding him in a captive position. A second later, he felt the unmistakable touch of cold, metal wrist irons cuffed tightly around his hands, forcing them together behind his back with a thick chain link. "Let me go!"

Harry struggled, but then he felt a sword tip nudging the back of his neck threateningly.

"Don't move," he heard Nott growl from behind.

-mp-

The Throne Room was filled with more soldiers as usual, Draco realised as he entered the large hall. He also saw, to his confusion, that the soldiers were all carrying bows and a quiver full of arrows on their back. Slytherin soldiers were always only armed with swords and dagger, hardly ever bows and arrow. Shaking it off, he turned to the front and saw his father on his Throne at the end, surrounded by guards.

"Father, you wanted to see me?"

The King looked up. "Indeed. Come closer."

Draco approached the Throne, aware that this was the first time in his life he was actually scared of his father. This morning little chat with Nott had Draco wary and anxious, and it could only be something bad that would cause his father to want to speak with him.

"I had a very interesting little meeting this morning with Nott." his father began, "Apparently, your bodyguard failed to turn up to his mandatory training this morning. Are you aware of this?"

"I found out just recently as well, father," Draco said, not technically a lie.

The King nodded and Draco knew he saw straight through his reply. "Nott sent a servant to go and wake him up, but was informed that not only was your bodyguard not in his room ..." the King stared hard at Draco "... but his bed wasn't made either."

All of Draco's muscles went taut with fear.

_Oh God, he knows ..._

"Do you have any idea where he could have been during the night, Draco?"

Draco struggled to keep himself outwardly calm. "No, sir."

His father kept his icy glare on him for a long few seconds, in which Draco felt his skin crawl with terror, before motioning to one of his guards and whispering something in his ear. The guard bowed his acknowledgment and hurried to the door that led to the antechamber behind the Throne Room. Draco felt a sinking feeling inside him. What are they going to do now?

The guard opened the door to the waiting room, peered inside and said a few words. Seconds later, Draco's eyes widened in shock as Harry was led out in shackles at sword-point, surrounded by Nott and the two soldiers from earlier. He barely held his mouth in check. If his father hadn't been there, Draco was sure he would have exclaimed Harry's name.

Harry made eye contact with him and silently asking what was going on. Draco wished he knew the answer. He turned to the King.

"Father?" he said by way of questioning.

"Just yesterday I told you that if I heard of one more misdoing, I would take action. Do you remember?"

Draco nodded solemnly, terrified of what his father might say next.

"Well I'd say this counts as misconduct," he said with an air of finality. "I'll ask you again, Draco, do you or do you not know where your bodyguard was during the night?"

Draco saw Harry's head shoot up in shock through the corner of his eye. "No, sir," Draco answered, trembling inside.

The King turned to Harry. "And you," he spat, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry's head kept switching from the King to Draco. "I ... I was only sleeping."

"Where?" the King boomed.

"In my bed, sir."

"Lie!" the King condemned. He nodded to his guards and faster than Draco realised what was happening, every single Slytherin soldier suddenly pulled out their bow and arrow and aimed their missiles at Harry.

"No!" Draco gasped in alarm, now understanding why all the soldiers were armed with bows instead of sword. Better to kill Harry from a distance.

"Where were you _sleeping_?" the King roared again.

"In my bed!" Harry called back.

Nott, the only soldier with his sword drawn, dug the tip of his blade a little deeper in his neck, piercing Harry's skin. Blood bloomed.

"No, stop!" Draco called desperately, unable to believe he was watching Harry near-death for the second time in as many days.

The King sneered at his son. "What is it, Draco?" he drawled, his voice dripping with fury and derision. "Do you have a problem with what is happening?"

Draco turned to his father with pleading eyes. "He did nothing wrong."

"Nothing?" his father echoed. "Really? Not only did he fail to attend his training this morning, he has lied to my face outright and, unless I am mistaken, is now hiding a _disgusting_ secret from me. A secret that I am sure you are part of. Am I right, _son_?"

Draco's insides filled with ice. _He knows what happened._

"I don't ... I don't know what you mean," Draco lied, wondering how the hell he and Harry were going to get out of this.

The King sighed angrily and returned his attention to the captive Harry. "_Tell the truth_. Where were you last night?" he asked with a jaw clenched in indignation.

"I was in my room ... _sir_," Harry growled.

The King paused. "If you insist on lying to me, then I will have to use some incentive." With another quick motion at the guards on the King's other side, Draco gasped as he suddenly found his arms pulled behind him and a dagger held at his neck, while someone breathed down his nape.

Harry's eyes lit up with white hot fury. "No!" he barked, while struggling a little. His sharp movement caused Nott to graze his sword against Harry's chest, slicing through his thin undershirt.

Draco held still, feeling the cold steel against the pale vulnerable skin of his neck. He and Harry made eye contact. He tried to communicate silently how sorry he was for forcing Harry to stay in bed that morning. If it wasn't for his selfishness, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"I'll ask you one more time," the King sneered at Harry. "Lie to me again, and Draco dies."

Draco's eyes widened in terror.

"What? Your own son!" Harry cried out, aghast at the King's words. "You'd kill your own son?"

The King ignored Harry's question and asked his own. "Where were you last night?"

Harry's horror-struck gaze swapped between the King to Draco rapidly and he began to breathe harder. Draco tried to hold his stare down and try to tell him silently that he should lie; despite what the King said, he wouldn't actually kill his own son, Draco believed.

When Harry didn't respond, the King motioned for the soldier holding Draco to press his dagger into Draco's neck harder. Draco closed his eyes and winced, feeling the blade about to break his skin. When it did, Draco couldn't help but gasp out in pain, "_Ah!_"

"Stop!" Harry cried out. "Don't; you'll kill him!"

"That's the point," the King sneered, but ordered Draco's guard to ease the pressure on his weapon a little. Draco breathed in relief. "Now you know I wasn't bluffing. Tell me the truth. _Where were you last night?_"

"I ... I ..." Harry stammered, breathing heavily so that Draco knew he was on the verge of telling the truth.

Draco was desperate. "No, Harry!" he called. "Don't!"

"Don't _what_?" the King roared. "Don't tell the truth? Don't tell me what _really_ happened last night?"

The dagger was once again pressed hard into Draco's already ripped skin, causing blood to flow more freely down like a grotesque crimson necklace. The pain was sharp and stinging. Draco cried out, terrified he might actually die.

"I was with Draco!" Harry finally blurted urgently, still struggling. "Now let him go!"

"Why?" the King snapped.

"What?" Harry said incredulously.

"_Why were you with my son_?"

"I'm supposed to protect him, aren't I? I was in his chambers making sure he was safe," Harry replied.

There was a pause of silence for a moment while the King seemed to take in this information. For that moment, Draco almost believed that Harry's lie had been convincing enough and they would be let free. But that was until, under the King's command, the guard behind him, kicked him hard behind the knee and he stumbled to the ground in sudden pain, before a sword was poised just above his heart, ready to drive in hard.

Harry growled. "Stop! No!"

"Keep lying to me and I will keep hurting him."

"_What do you want me to say?_" Harry exclaimed loudly in anger and desperation.

"Tell everyone here _exactly_ what you did last night?"

At that moment, Draco—and Harry—knew that the King was completely aware of their activities together last night and would not rest until it was made public. Harry breathing became exasperated and unstable, like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs because he was so angry and trapped. Draco absentmindedly saw through his peripherals the chandelier hanging above them begin quivering on its own so that the crystals tinkled.

"Speak!" the King commanded.

The muscle in Harry's neck swelled as he tensed and he glared at the King with all the hatred he could muster. The chandelier trembled even more.

"_SPEAK!_"

There was silence for a second.

Then, the windows exploded.

It was like the sound of a sudden violent storm. Like everything was in slow motion, Draco saw everyone in the room jump in panic and duck to protect themselves from the hailstorm of shattered glass, while he himself covered his own head. In the gap between his arms, he saw his father staring in wide-eyed confusion and panic, alert for a sudden attack, as was everyone else.

Except for Harry. Draco saw that while Harry, too, was confused, he didn't look scared. He was merely staring at the shattered windows with a trance-like gaze, almost fascinated by what he saw.

As the storm receded into a mere tinkling of glass, Draco and everyone else realised they weren't under attack. They looked up at the carnage around them and tried to make sense of what could make all the windows in the Throne Room suddenly explode. Nothing presented itself as a possible solution. The shattering windows, as far as Draco could tell, were unexplainable.

The King straightened himself and immediately looked at Harry with a cool gaze. "Planned this, did you?"

Harry gave him an angered look. "What could I have done?"

"You're trying to distract me," the King accused.

"I didn't break the windows!" Harry called back hotly.

The King's gaze hardened and he looked ready murder. Draco's heart accelerated madly as he realised he likely would.

"You'll pay for this," the King growled.

"No, father!" Draco cried out desperately.

"_Shoot him!_" the King ordered.

And suddenly, all the soldiers had re-armed themselves and like puppets all synchronised by one puppeteer, they aimed. At Harry.

The arrows were loosed.

"_NO!_" Draco screamed in terror.

Everything slowed again. The arrows flew. Harry stood no chance. He was about to die.

But suddenly—

—the arrows stopped.

Inches from Harry. They simply _stopped moving in mid-air._

Draco's eyes flew open wider and his mouth dropped. "_Wha...?_" he breathed out in a trembling voice, unable to believe that Harry was still alive.

Harry remained standing there, surrounded by frozen arrows heading for his chest. He looked as shocked as Draco was, his eyes broad and scared. "What's going on?" Draco heard him mutter.

Then, they both looked up around them and realised that everyone else in the room had been frozen as well, just like the arrows. No one was moving; everyone's head and eyes were trained in Harry's direction, ready to watch him die. Draco cautiously poked at the soldier above him holding him captive and noticed no reaction. Draco pushed harder and winced slightly as the entire, motionless body feel to the floor with a loud _thud_.

Draco got up and spun to face Harry. They locked eyes. "What is this?" Draco breathed.

"I don't know. Everything's just ... stopped." Harry's eyes then searched Draco anxiously and asked, "Are you ok? Did he hurt you?"

Draco felt like laughing and hitting Harry at the same time. Only Harry would ask that question at a time like this. "Yes, Harry, I'm fine. Are you?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess." He carefully touched one of the arrows in front of him and it fell to the tiles with a clatter. He then proceeded to touch every other arrow and watched as they all dropped, harmless. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

Then Harry, as if realising nothing was standing in between he and Draco, rushed to the Prince. Draco felt elated when he felt Harry's arms circle him again. "I thought you were about to die," Harry murmured into Draco's cheek. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Draco smiled and burrowed himself further into Harry. That Harry seemed to care more about Draco's life than his own made Draco feel treasured like no other. Harry had proven time and time again that he considered Draco's life to be worth his own. But, Draco mused as his smile slowly dropped, Harry's life was under more threat than Draco's.

He pulled away from Harry and though it hurt to say it, he whispered, "You need to go."

"What?"

Draco took a moment to force himself to speak, while he felt Harry's green eyes drill into his downturned face. He so wanted to look up, but he couldn't. "I don't know what's stopped everyone from moving, but the moment they wake up, they'll kill you. Harry, you need to leave."

"I'm not leaving."

Draco shook his head, keeping his eyes down on Harry's chest rather than his face. "No, you have to. You'll die otherwise."

"And what about you? They'll kill you too."

"I'm the only Heir to this Kingdom. Father would never kill me," he replied, although he secretly doubted his own words.

It seemed Harry was too. "Draco, he had someone push a knife against your neck!"

Draco shook his head again by way of answer.

"Look at me."

"No," Draco whispered.

Harry placed a finger on Draco's chin and pulled his head up, so their eyes were forced together. "As long as your life is in danger, I'm staying to make sure you're safe."

Draco felt tears, imminent. "I won't let you. You have to go. Run away. Steal one of the horses and go back to your home."

"My home is with you."

Draco breathed out. "Stop talking like that. As if this isn't hard enough."

"Then don't tell me to leave."

"Harry, you'll die!"

"Then at least it's for a worthy cause."

"No," Draco blurted. "You're worth more than this. You've got a whole life to live. You've got friends and a family, and I'm only holding you back. I promise you I won't die."

"How can you be sure?"

Unable to help himself, Draco pressed a quick kiss on Harry's lips. "I'm sure," he said simply. "Go."

"I can't—"

"Go."

"But you'll—"

"Go."

"Draco—"

"Go."

"Stop that! Stop _saying_ that!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing Draco by his arms and holding him firmly. "Why do you want me to go so much?"

"Because I love you!"

Harry froze; his very breath seemed to have left him. He blinked a few times before opening his mouth to whisper, "You ... you what?"

Draco almost bit his lip, wondering alongside with Harry, why he had said those words. He hadn't even realised it before. But he couldn't take it back and Draco suddenly realised he didn't want to. "I love you," he said again, finding that he wasn't scared to have said something so intimate. "... Enough to let you go."

Harry expelled a large, shaky breath. "You drop that on me and you still want me to go?"

Draco nodded with a small sad smile. "If you stay, you will die. But if you go, there's a chance I'll see you again."

"But then what? You'll be married and I'll—"

"Shhh," Draco urged, feeling the tears collecting at his eyes, as he placed a gentle hand along Harry's jaw, memorising everything about his face. "You'll be _alive_. That's enough of a reason for me. Now for the last time, _go_ ... before everyone wakes up."

His heart broke into pieces when Harry suddenly crashed his lips against his with so much force and affection that Draco almost felt like he was flying. As their mouths moved together, Draco's tears finally fell, coating their kiss in the wet, salty taste of their anguish. Draco savoured every second, feeling the way Harry's mouth moulded in his, how their tongue collided with passion and desire and how their hands were loathe to let the other go.

But eventually they had to. They pulled away. Harry's eyes were glistening as well.

"I love you too," Harry whispered, his hands gently cradling Draco.

Draco closed his eyes, trying to stem his tears. He knew now their hearts were fully bound to one another. Nothing and no one could ever possibly hope to replace what Harry meant to him.

"I'll find you again," Harry added with a firm nod, "I promise."

Even though full of hopelessness, Draco said, "I know. Now go, Harry."

With one last kiss, Harry turned around and walked out of the Throne Room. Draco watched him leave, tears stinging on his face.

He was certain he'd never see him again.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Back home, all the lies and secrets hidden from Harry are finally revealed. _


	33. Questions and Answers

_A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. I've been swamped in uni work. Hope you enjoy this installment! Oh, and thank you again for all your reviews! _

-mp-

**PART 3**

Chapter 32

**Questions and Answers**

It was early in the morning on the third day since he'd fled Slytherin that Harry left the Nullius and entered Hufflepuff territory. Bittersweet emotions had his heart aching in pain and accelerating in excitement simultaneously as he passed the outlying farms and silos that peppered the outskirts of the Kingdom. He missed Draco terribly, as if a hole had been carved in his heart that nothing but he could fill; but he longed to see his friends and family he had been separated from for months.

"Almost there," he muttered to the weary horse he was sitting on, while he himself battled the call for sleep and rest. He hadn't stopped since he'd left Slytherin, telling himself he could have all the rest he wanted when he got home.

The last leg of the journey couldn't have passed slower. With every metre forward, Harry's yearning for Draco increased. He already missed the feeling of having the Prince in his arms and he still wasn't convinced leaving him had been the best thing to do. But there was nothing he could do now, except make sure he kept his leaving promise to Draco.

Harry looked up and saw the walls surrounding the main city of Hufflepuff before him, while the large gates stood open and welcoming, inviting him inside. Despite his exhaustion and heartache, Harry couldn't help but smile.

He was home.

Whispers and mutters from the villagers reached Harry's ears, wondering who this lost and tired traveller was, as he urged his horse the final steps to the gate.

"Halt," one of the guards on duty said to him.

Harry gently pulled the reigns of his horse to obey. "Yes?"

"What is your business here?"

"I'm returning home, good sir, after an extended absence," Harry replied, turning his face full in the direction of the guard.

Harry was deeply amused when, slowly, the guard's face morphed into realisation. "Blimey! It's Harry Potter! He's come back!" the guard proclaimed, slapping his fellow soldier on the arm to grab his attention. "It's Harry! Look!"

Bone weary and almost half-asleep, Harry still had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop from smiling.

"Well, colour me shocked, it _is_!" the second soldier declared, staring at Harry as if wondering if he was actually real.

"Let me in will you, boys?" Harry requested.

"O'course! In you get!" they allowed excitedly.

"Cheers," Harry thanked them before working his horse to a trot and meandering through the streets. The stares and mutters of villagers followed him all the way to the town stables, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care. All he wanted was to see his friends. As he journeyed through the city, the memories and experiences of a lifetime all came rushing back with a rush of warmth and relief. But as he entered the stables, he was accosted with memories of the times he shared with Draco, riding their horses and bantering like they always did. Harry decided his heart and mind would always be at war. Both lives meant a great deal to him.

Tiredly, he slid off his horse and instructed one of the stable hands to tend to the stolen animal. Just as he was easing out the cricks in his neck, arms and leg, a kafuffle of noise from outside reached him.

"Oi! You! Get out of my way! Where is he? Let me at him! Is he in there? Eh?"

Harry grinned.

_Ron_.

A second later, the barn door burst open and Ron, his best friend and brother for life, stood standing in the doorway, ginger hair and all.

"Harry ..." he breathed out in wonder, "You're back."

Harry shrugged casually. "Thought it was time to come back. Miss me?"

Ron only stared at him with an open mouth and wide eyes, before he finally said, "You absolute bugger."

Harry looked at him with an innocent look. "Me?"

"You think you can just leave here with no explanation whatsoever, not even _bothering_ to tell your best friend where you are, or even leave a note; disappear for months on end with _still_ no word on where you are; and then come _waltzing_ back into Hufflepuff like you haven't got a care in the world and all you can say is, _'Thought it was time to come back'_?"

Harry paused. "Yeah," he said simply.

"I hate you," Ron growled a second before he rushed up to Harry and gave him a tight, forceful hug that rid Harry of any doubt who his closest friend was. Harry gripped him tightly back, glad to be home.

When they pulled apart, Ron looked him in the eye and said again, "I really do hate you."

Harry grinned. "I hate you too, Ron."

"Where have you been?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Harry replied.

"Where?"

"The Empire."

Ron's eyes expanded. "Why?"

"This is the unbelievable part," Harry forewarned amusedly. "I was the Prince's bodyguard."

Ron looked at him oddly. "Excuse me?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I've been the personal bodyguard of the Prince these past few months."

"And by 'the Prince', you mean ...?"

"The actual Prince of Slytherin," Harry clarified.

Ron took a moment to digest this information. "How the bloody hell did you wind up in that mess?"

Chuckling tiredly, Harry said, "Ron, I'd love to tell you but I've just been riding a horse without rest for almost three days, I'm dead tired and in desperate need of sleep. Can this wait?"

"But Harry—"

"Leave him alone, Ron. Can't you see the man's dead on his feet?" came the soft voice of a woman from behind Ron. Harry peered over Ron's shoulder to see Hermione, dressed elegantly as the Princess she was, with a warm smile on her face. "Hello, Harry," she said.

Harry smiled back. "Hermione. It's nice to see you again ... both of you."

"We're glad you're back. But you look like you haven't slept in a week!"

"Something like that," Harry muttered.

"Well that won't do; you need rest," Hermione tutted, searching Harry's face anxiously. Ron was about to open his mouth to object once more, but Hermione cut him off. "We'll do all the talking and explaining in the world when he wakes, Ron. First, he needs to sleep. We'll take you home, Harry."

Harry, liking the idea immensely, walked over to Hermione and offered her his arm to be escorted. She took it smiling graciously. "I've never seen Ron so obedient before," Harry joked while Ron _hmph_ed behind the pair. "How did you manage it?"

Hermione grinned. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll listen."

Harry laughed, finding it easy to imagine the love-struck Ron following Hermione's every whim. "You, Hermione, are a godsend," he decided, knowing he'd have plenty to tease Ron about.

"I try," she said smartly.

Behind them, Ron muttered angrily and Harry distinctly heard the words, "_try, my arse_."

Harry's grin grew. "So, have you remained in Hufflepuff since I left?" he asked Hermione.

"I've travelled a few times back to Ravenclaw, but I always find that I like it here better," she replied.

Harry surreptitiously winked at Ron. "Can't imagine why," he muttered to himself and almost grinned when he saw Ron's cheeks bloom pink. He remembered once thinking that a relationship between Ron and Hermione would never work out, but now Harry saw that he had been wrong. Not only had his two friends created what at first glance appeared to be a strong relationship; but he himself had experienced the same thing with Draco.

Another pang of ache shot through him, but he forced himself to shake it off.

"It'll be good to go home. Of all the things I've missed, my bed is at the top of the list," he teased.

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed. "Some best friend, you are."

Harry chuckled and left the stables with Ron and Hermione on either side of him.

-mp-

When Harry woke up the following morning, bleary-eyed and yawning, he stopped short when he found a small crowd of people occupying his living room, chatting amongst themselves.

"Hello?" he asked unsurely.

Conversation ceased immediately as every head turned in his direction. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione in the group, of course; but with them was the Professor, various members of Ron's family, including Ginny, Shacklebolt, Hagrid, some of the other knights of Hufflepuff Harry grew up training with and the elders of the city. All in all, Harry was certain his house had never played host to so many people at once.

"Harry!" Hermione responded first. "You're finally awake." She ambled over to him.

As she got nearer to him, Harry pulled her close and whispered, "Hermione, why is half of Hufflepuff in my house?"

"News spread quickly that you returned, and I guess everyone wanted to see for themselves. Isn't it wonderful?"

Harry wasn't sure he'd use the word _wonderful_ when he still had sleep in his eyes, his breath smelled foul and his hair was atrocious. He also wished he had more on that his thin undershirt because he could feel Ginny's eyes roaming all over him. "Yeah, wonderful," he muttered dryly. "Let me freshen up first."

"Oh, of course," the Ravenclaw Princess agreed.

Ten minutes later, looking mildly presentable, Harry walked back into his still crowded living room. He gave everyone an awkward smile, which was received with a round of "We're so glad you're back" and "We missed you" and "Where were you?"

Harry tried to say hello to everyone, but when he reached the Professor, he suddenly remembered all those unanswered questions he had been longing to ask his elderly mentor about his discoveries in Slytherin. Harry decided that needed to wait until they were alone.

Now, it was story time.

Everyone listened intently as he recounted his adventures since the moment he was kidnapped from Hufflepuff. He told them he was taken to fight to the death in a Tournament in the Empire against two dozen other men (Ron had murmured, "Blimey!"), that he won (Ron had said, "Well yeah … it's Harry!"), that he became the Prince's sole bodyguard (Ron sneered, "Scrawny git", even though Harry was certain Ron had no idea who Draco was), and that he ultimately escaped a few days ago (Ron had said, "About bloody time!"). Harry had wisely left out the parts about his relationship with Draco and his incidences in the Dark Forest and the hidden gallery in the Castle.

"So you've been in Slytherin this whole time?" Ron's mother asked him with pity in her eyes. "You poor dear. That must have been terrible."

For the most part, Harry had to agree with her, but being with Draco had certainly improved Harry's opinion of the Empire. For the hundredth time since he left Slytherin, Harry wished he could see Draco again.

"How d'yeh escape?" Hagrid asked.

If Harry was honest with himself, he couldn't answer this question. The only way he was able to leave Slytherin was through a paranormal occurrence that froze everyone in the Throne Room but he and Draco, which allowed him to flee without harm. Harry mentally added that to the list of things to ask the Professor about.

"It's all sort of a blur, really," Harry lied, wanting to dodge the question. "Can hardly remember."

"What was it like?" Ginny asked next.

"Horrible, at first," Harry answered, remembering his first week and the Tournament that forced him to kill all those other soldiers just so that he could keep his life. "But then I guess I got used to it," he said vaguely, knowing he probably stunned a few people with that comment, including Ron.

One by one, the questions kept coming and Harry had to force himself to be patient with their curiosity, even though he preferred if _he _was the one getting his questions answered. Just as his perseverance was running thin, Shacklebolt fired his own question.

"What about Remus?" he asked in his low voice. "Was he taken with you? We haven't seen him since you were kidnapped either."

Harry paused. "As far as I know, Remus is in Azkaban."

An audible gasp rippled through the room. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye a strange look come upon the Professor's face.

"He was taken there to blackmail me into doing the King's bidding. If I refused, Remus would be killed," Harry added.

"Is he still alive?"

"I … I don't know," he answered, suddenly shocked by the very idea. The thought hadn't crossed him that Remus might already be dead. Azkaban didn't exactly have a long life expectancy rate. Harry stood up. "We should go find him."

"Harry, sit down. There's nothing you can do now," Hermione said gently.

"Yes, there is. I can go and get him out."

"You just got back. Settle down a little first," Ron suggested.

"Ron, Remus could be dying!"

"Harry," came the soft, old voice of the Professor, "Now is not the time for blind action. We must wait."

"Aren't you sick of waiting? Let's do something."

"Harry, mate, we just got you back," Ron said calmly. "If you want to go rescue Remus, I'll be the first one to volunteer my help. But right now, you need to rest."

Harry sighed loudly and sat down angrily, knowing they'd set up a barricade around his house just to make sure he didn't leave if he insisted he would. "Fine."

For the next few minutes, Harry was glad to realise he'd answered the majority of their questions and they had less and less to ask. It was at this time that, thankfully, the Professor had the sense of mind to announce it was time to leave Harry alone. Harry could have kissed him.

Slowly, his house emptied as one by one, his guests bid him final words of relief that he had returned and left. Ginny, as she rose to leave, approached Harry and smiled shyly.

"I'm really … really glad you're back, Harry."

Harry made himself smile. "Thanks, Ginny. I'm glad to be here too."

She blushed pink and fiddled with something in her hands. "I was really worried when you were gone," she admitted, which made Harry wonder where she was going with this. "I made you this." Harry looked down and saw a white handkerchief decorated with a sewn floral pattern on the edges and the initials GW in the bottom right hand corner. "Will you take it?"

Harry paused, looking at the material in her hands and the shy, pleading look in her eyes. He was in a stalemate; if he took it, it would be a public sign of some form of attachment between them; if he refused, she would be heartbroken. In the end, Harry knew he couldn't hurt her like that, even if she meant nothing to him romantically.

"Yes, sure," he answered, taking the cloth and inwardly wincing, knowing he now possessed a visible sign to anyone who would look that Ginny Weasely held an important place in his heart. He felt a small sense of betrayal towards Draco and silently asked for his forgiveness.

Ginny and smiling nervously but in relief at his acceptance, before she swallowed and said, "I'll see you later, Harry."

Harry nodded. "See you."

He watched her leave and then turned to the remaining occupants: Ron, Hermione and the Professor.

"I don't think I've ever seen you quite this popular before, Harry?" the old Professor teased, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," Harry agreed numbly, idly wrapping Ginny's handkerchief around his finger. "But I don't want to be."

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked gently. "You haven't looked well all morning."

Harry briefly considered telling the trio before him of the truth of his relationship with the Slytherin Prince but held himself. That would have to be kept a secret to his grave. No one could know about it, because not only his, but Draco's reputation as the future King of the Empire would be destroyed.

"I'm fine," he answered, "Just a little overwhelmed, that's all."

"I'm sure," the Professor said kindly, "Slytherin life isn't easy to adjust to."

"Have you been Professor?" Hermione asked.

"When you've lived as long as I have, Princess, you've been everywhere and seen everything," he answered.

The Professor's answer caused the same curiosity from before to kindle inside Harry. Deciding that he could trust Ron and Hermione, Harry finally began the conversation he'd been itching to have ever since he first stumbled into the Dark Forest.

"Professor …" he began, getting their attention, while he fumbled over his next words, "while I was in the Empire, I … learnt some things. Things which I think you know about. Things about my past."

It didn't surprise Harry that the Professor's face suddenly took on a cautionary look, as if he was anticipating Harry's words; as if he had been expecting this conversation for a long time. Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, looked as confused as Harry first was.

"I want to know the truth," Harry continued. "What don't I know? What haven't you told me?"

There was a long pause in which Harry waited for the Professor to speak up.

"What's going on?" Ron jumped in.

"I was hoping the Professor could tell us," Harry said.

Finally, he spoke. "Harry," the old man began gently. Then he sighed. "I won't lie to you. I knew this would happen one day."

"What would happen?"

"The truth would have to be revealed."

"So you _have_ been lying to me," Harry said with angry eyes, wanting to confirm it.

"You must understand; everything I have ever done in regards to you has been for your safety," the Professor replied.

"Wait; why is Harry in danger?" Ron interrupted hotly, looking wildly confused. Hermione placed her hand on his arm to calm him down.

"Harry is right," the Professor said, "there are things about his past he doesn't know; and these things are a threat to his life."

Harry's heart began accelerating. "My life's been threatened too many times in the past months for me to be cautious anymore. Tell me the truth, Professor."

The old man looked weary as he exhaled a large breath. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Harry answered, "Start from the beginning."

"Harry, my boy, you have to know that I had hoped to never tell you what I am about to say. I wanted it to remain a secret forever. It is almost too much for you to bear on your shoulders."

Harry straightened up. "I'm a big boy now; I can handle it. Just tell me."

The Professor nodded slowly, his eyes resigned to the fact that Harry wouldn't let him out of this this. Harry had come too far now to back out. He needed to know the truth. So with ears and eyes alert, he listened.

The Professor began.

"_Our tale begins long before you were born, my young friend_ …"

-mp-

It was two hours later when Harry finally sat back in his chair, stunned beyond words. Things he would never have thought could be true had come out of the Professor's mouth; things about his life that seemed impossible; things that changed everything about who he was and where he came from.

But the terrifying this was, Harry was inclined to believe him. Every little bit about the Professor's tale fit together, creating a perfect history of his ancestry that could not be denied. What's more, everything the old man had fit perfectly with what he had discovered in the Dark Forest and in the hidden gallery.

Even the Professor's mention of magic didn't seem so unbelievable when he thought about what had happened in the Slytherin Throne Room a few days earlier. Apart from magic, how else can someone explain how everyone had been spelled frozen? Ron and Hermione both had looks of sheer disbelief and bewilderment on their faces at the mention of magic, but neither Harry nor Dumbledore took the time to explain it. They would find out later.

"Harry?" the Professor said.

Harry looked up and made eye contact with the man, but found that he had nothing to say. He felt as if someone had ripped his mind into shreds and it would take days to put it back together again. He didn't know where to start rebuilding his life from, because as far as he could tell, nothing about him had been true. He was never from Hufflepuff, his father had been a Slytherin Prince, his ancestors had been stolen from their rightful line; even the scar on his forehead told the story of a madman who had plans for his life since he was born.

How was anyone supposed to deal with that?

He looked to his left and saw Ron and Hermione sitting in silent shock.

"This is why I never told you, my boy," the old man said kindly.

"No, I had a right to know," Harry spoke up, words feeling foreign on his tongue after being silent for so long. "This is my life we're talking about. I damn well have a right to know who my own father was, and to know that my destiny had been planned since the moment I was born."

The Professor sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know it is too much to bear, but I want you to know that you don't bear it alone. You have allies on your side that have spent the last twenty years trying to keep you safe, including me."

"Who else?"

"Remus, for one. He knows about your Slytherin parentage and he swore to never tell you. And there's also Severus."

Harry frowned. "Snape? My neighbour?"

"He's a spy. A sort of double agent; pretending to be Voldemort's faithful servant, but all along a trusted friend of mine who has also sworn to keep you a secret."

"How so?"

"He has been feeding Voldemort lies about you; telling him that you are slowly building your new Kingdom, preparing for war. That's what Voldemort wants to hear."

Harry remembered the conversation he overheard between Lucius and that hissed voice. The voice had said, "_Severus tells me that the boy is getting ready."_ Feeling overwhelmed, Harry couldn't help but laugh tiredly.

His three companions looked at him oddly.

"The signs have all been there," Harry said, feeling like he wanted to hit himself. "If I had just looked hard enough I would have figured it out. While I was in Slytherin, I once overheard the King talking to someone, and now I only just realised that someone was Voldemort." Harry rubbed his forehead. "Voldemort had just gotten word from Snape that I was getting my so-called Kingdom ready." Sighing, Harry shook his head. "I've been so blind."

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "no one would have been able to figure that out. There is so much to this puzzle; you can't have known."

"Yeah, mate," Ron added. "Don't kill yourself over it."

Harry ignored them and turned to the Professor, remembering something else. "That night, when I was eavesdropping, I remember Voldemort saying something along the lines of 'restoring his body'. What does that mean?"

The Professor looked pensive. "Harry, did you actually _see_ Voldemort that night?"

"No, I heard him."

He nodded knowingly. "What you heard wasn't actually a man; but a spirit, a soul. Voldemort's soul. It's the last remaining fragment of his person, and he is desperate to restore his physical body."

"How'd he lose it?"

The Professor's eyes twinkled in amusement. "I cursed him."

"You what?" Ron asked.

"On the night your parents were killed, Harry, I chased Voldemort and cursed him into a half-life that only barely hung onto existence by mere shreds. He's been living as a disembodied soul since then. I, foolishly, thought that was the end of him. I didn't realise there was a way he could get his body back."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Through the magic of the Red Sword."

"Right, can someone please explain to me what you mean by magic? I mean, bloody hell, as if this story wasn't crazy enough…!"

Hermione shushed him.

Dumbledore ignored Ron and continued to explain to Harry. "That Sword contains ancient magic. When Salazar cursed Godric, he filtered a great force of magic into the Red Sword, whether he meant to do it or not, I'm not sure. But to this day, that Sword is the only remaining artefact that has the ability to restore magic as it once was. And now, Voldemort needs that magic to get his body back, but you, Harry, are the only one who can retrieve it."

Harry's mind swum. "But you said you _cursed_ Voldemort," he said. "How could you have done that if all magic was put into the Red Sword?"

"Not all, _most_," the Professor corrected. "Enough so that the majority of the world has forgotten that it even existed. But Voldemort hasn't, which is how he was able to kill your parents. He's been obsessed with magic all his life. His dearest wish it to get it back, but he needs you to do that. Once he's retrieved his power back, his ultimate plan is to kill you, destroy your Kingdom once and for all, and rule over all as the new King of Slytherin."

Harry felt lost in all the information he'd just swallowed. "So Voldemort expects me to find the Sword, get it out of the ground and just give it to him?"

"He probably doesn't anticipate it will be that easy," the Professor said with a smirk. "He's expecting you to fight him; which is why he has been building up the armies of Slytherin for all these years."

Harry's eyebrows leapt. "He's gonna fight me with the million-strong army of the Empire? Bloody hell, I'm already dead."

"Well that's just it," the Professor said, "That's why he wants you to build up your own Gryffindor army. Your father refused to do it, so Voldemort killed him. Now he wants you to."

"And where am I supposed to find an army strong enough to fight Slytherin?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"You can count me in," Ron said impulsively, even if he was looking at Harry and Dumbledore like he had no idea what they were talking about. "I've always hated Slytherin, and this is a good as any cause to fight."

Harry couldn't help but smile at him, while Hermione gave Ron an affectionate smile and held his hand.

The Professor chuckled. "A Kingdom merely needs a King to begin with. You'll be amazed at how quickly the rest follows. Mr Weasley, here, is a perfect example of that."

"But I'm no King," Harry interrupted. "I'm just a knight from Hufflepuff."

"No, you're not, Harry," Hermione corrected, "You're the Heir of Gryffindor. You're its King. It's been in your blood your whole life, you just didn't know about it until now. But it _is_ your destiny."

Harry looked at her. "You seem to be taking this much easier than I am."

She smiled pleasantly. "I've only known you for a short time, but I've already noticed the qualities of a great leader in you. You were born to it."

Harry sighed. "But I can't just accept this," he objected, knowing that it was a feeble argument.

"Harry, I told you earlier that I had hoped to never tell you all this," the Professor remarked. "But now I'm realising that I should have done so a long time ago. You see, for all these years, I kept seeing you as a young boy, an orphan; and I always felt the need to protect you from the greater truth. I never thought someone so young could stand under the weight of such a responsibility. But I was wrong. Only now have I just realised that you are not a young boy anymore. You are a man, Harry, of your own right and your own duty. This may have been thrust upon you, but I trust enough in your character to know that you are ready and capable of bearing this responsibility. The Lady is right, Harry. You were born to be King. Without you, the Empire will continue to thrive under the poisoned mind of the King, controlled by Voldemort. Slytherin is a victim just as much as Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. The world needs you to take up your post and destroy the evil of Voldemort."

Harry's mind went to Draco; trapped under the control of Voldemort and stuck in Slytherin. One day, Draco would be King and then _he_ would be the one with the poisoned mind, doing Voldemort's bidding like a dog. Harry clenched his jaw. He could never allow that to happen. He had promised to Draco that he would do anything to keep him alive and safe, and he would keep it.

Even if that meant becoming the King of Gryffindor.

There was just one more thing that needed explaining. "Professor," Harry began. "When you said that _most_ of the magic had been put into the Red Sword, but some was left out …"

"Yes?"

"Is it possible that I could have gotten some as well?" Harry asked, feeling stupid.

"What do you mean?"

"On my last day in Slytherin, I had … er … broken some rules, and I was about to be killed," he began to explain, wisely leaving out _how_ he had broken the rules, "But just as all these arrows were flying towards me, they just … stopped moving."

Ron and Hermione's eyes expanded.

"I can't explain it," Harry said, "But all I remember thinking was that I didn't want to die like that and the next thing I know, the arrows had just frozen." He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, and … everyone in the room had been frozen as well."

Hermione gasped audibly, while Ron stared at him like he had gone insane.

"I know it sounds bizarre," Harry tried to justify.

"That doesn't sound bizarre, Harry; that sounds like magic," the Professor corrected his blue eyes shining, looking at Harry with grandfatherly pride. "You've got a penchant for it. Well, well, you're more cut out for this than I had anticipated."

-mp-

_Next Chapter: Here's an excerpt…_

_ "There is one more thing that must happen if you are truly going to be the King of Gryffindor," the Professor announced, looking suddenly a little anxious._

_ "What?" Ron prodded._

_ The old man gave Harry a weak smile. "Harry, you're going to need an Heir."_

_ Harry paused. He stared at Dumbledore dumbly. Everyone else in the room seemed to freeze as well. _

_ Thinking he didn't hear right, Harry asked, "I beg your pardon?"_


	34. The Right Choice

_A/N: Based on the last chapter's teaser, I've been asked a few times on whether this story will include mpreg – which made me chuckle, I must admit. The answer: definitely not. I doubt I could do it justice!_

_Speaking of teasers, I reckon the one at the end of this chapter will also raise a few alarms … *evil laugh*_

-mp-

Chapter 33

**The Right Choice**

"I think I've finally come to terms with it," Remus said, staring up at the almost full moon through the metal bars of his window.

"With what?" Sirius asked.

"The truth about Harry and James."

"You didn't believe me?"

"Not at first. I kept entertaining the idea that you had made the whole thing up just because it was easier to believe," Remus admitted. "But, strange as it is, it makes sense. Albus had always told me that there was more to the story of Harry's past than I could never have known. Turns out he was right."

"That man is always right. He has a way of knowing everything."

Remus smirked, agreeing.

"So …" Sirius began, "You know I'm telling the truth about this … Does this mean you believe me when I tell you that I'm not a murderer?"

Remus' face dropped and he turned to stare at the hole that looked into Sirius' cell. If he was honest with himself, Remus had tried not to think about this issue for weeks now, because if he did, he was very tempted to believe Sirius was innocent. But it felt like he was betraying James and Lily if he deemed Sirius not guilty. Would it be too hasty to believe Sirius? Was he only doing it because he still had feelings for him?

"Sorry," Sirius murmured, "Didn't mean to spring that on you … I just … I want to know."

Remus knew it was cruel to remain quiet when Sirius was so invested in his answer, but he was too frightened to open his mouth.

"If there's anything I can do to make you trust me, tell me," Sirius pleaded. "I can't bear to have you think so ill of me; I can't bear the thought of you hating me."

Remus' breath hitched. _Sirius__thinks__I__hate__him?_ He closed his eyes, knowing his feelings were almost the complete opposite. There was a time he spent years forcing himself to hate Sirius, but now, Remus couldn't imagine despising the man in the cell next to his.

"No, Sirius," he whispered, "I don't hate you." He bit his lip, almost in an attempt to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't. "I can't," he confessed. "I've tried to ignore you and tell myself I should be despising you … but it's not possible."

The pause that followed was thrumming with anticipation. "Then … you don't think I'm the murderer," Sirius said, not a question, but Remus knew he was waiting for confirmation.

Remus closed his eyes. "No."

He heard Sirius breathe out in incredulous disbelief. "You … you trust me?"

"Yes."

There was movement in Sirius' cell and Remus could tell he had shuffled to the wall separating them, peering into the connecting hole in the wall. "Remus … you don't know how long I've been waiting to hear that." Remus could hear the emotion in his voice and the waver in his breathing. "Would you come here so I can see you?"

Remus knew he couldn't refuse. Not now. So he tentatively shifted forward and cautiously ducked his head, and for the first time in twenty years, made eye contact with the man he loved. Remus almost swallowed his tongue at the memories that overwhelmed him. Sirius' eyes hadn't changed one bit; Remus could clearly recall every single occasion the pair of eyes before him had looked at him with love and adoration.

As they were doing now.

Tears from both their eyes dropped down their cheeks.

"You haven't changed," Sirius breathed.

"Neither have you," Remus replied, knowing his words held a deeper meaning; that the Sirius from his past was the same Sirius before him now. Not a murderer, but his best friend and partner.

"I wish I could touch you," Sirius whispered. "I want to rip this wall down and hold you again."

Remus smiled through his tears.

"I love you, Remus Lupin. I want you to know that that never changed. It's what's kept me going all these years; knowing that you were out there and you were someone worth surviving for."

Remus could only cry as he felt the wounds in his heart begin to heal after twenty years. "I love you too," he whispered, the tears flowing with force. "I'm sorry for not trusting you like I should have …"

"Shhh," Sirius hushed. "That's over now; it's in the past. All that matters is that you trust me now."

"Forgive me," Remus pleaded.

"I forgave you a long time ago."

Remus wiped at his wet eyes. "I'll make this right. When we get out, I'll make sure we live these last two decades all over again," he promised, not bothering to even think about a life where they wouldn't escape this prison. He just knew, instinctively, that they would have their lives again.

Sirius smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

-mp-

Three days after he returned to Hufflepuff, Harry found himself walking alone along the paths and through the parks he had spent his childhood. After being surrounded by people constantly for three days, it was satisfying to have nothing but his own thoughts for company.

He found a wooden bench perched on the edge of a large green field and sat down, allowing his mind to wander. He had too much to think about and too many decisions to make. Ron, Hermione and the Professor were eager to find out what he would do now that he knew the truth about his past, but he hadn't made his decision yet. Despite their assurances that he would be a great leader, saying yes just seemed like too big of a step to take after just a few days' thought.

Then there was Draco. _His_ Draco. Trapped in Slytherin, living his life under the shadow of both his father and Voldemort. He was a prisoner in his own Castle and Harry wanted nothing more than to jump on a horse and race back to him. One night hadn't been enough. Ever since leaving, Harry found he was craving Draco ceaselessly. His dreams were overwhelmed by the memory of Draco and his heart still hurt when he thought of how far away he was. Harry didn't know if pledging his heart and emotions on Draco had been wise, but it was irreversible now.

"Harry?"

Turning, his eyes widened when he saw who it was. "Ginny. What are you doing here?"

"I saw you were alone," she said, coming around from behind the bench to sit on it beside Harry, "And I thought you might like some company."

Harry chose not to tell her that this was very far from the truth.

"You looked like you were being tormented by your own thoughts," she remarked, "So maybe you would like an ear to listen? I probably don't know the answers to anything, but I know that just talking about it can help."

Harry stared at her, momentarily confused. Ginny had changed; almost as if she's grown up a couple of years in his absence and developed into a mature young woman. He was hardly expecting that; nor the words that came out of her mouth.

"You're different," he blurted, mentally slapping himself for sounding so rude.

She blushed. "How so?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. You've just changed."

"For better?"

Harry inwardly winced, knowing he led himself in that. He knew what Ginny was expecting to hear and Harry couldn't lie. "Yes."

She smiled and looked down at her lap shyly. "When you were gone," she began, "I don't know, everything just changed. I couldn't even think about what would happen if you got killed. I'd …" she blushed deeper "… I'd miss you a lot. And then I realised I had wasted so much time acting stupid about you, when I could have had something that was much more real."

Harry swallowed, feeling his pulse race. He almost didn't want her to continue, but he was grateful to be able to see this new side of her.

"I want to be your friend, Harry. Someone you can talk to; someone you can rely on. Which is why I'm here now," she said, shrugging her shoulders and giving him a smile. "Let me in."

Harry half-smiled at her in return. "Thanks, Ginny," he said honestly. "But the things on my mind are far bigger than … than … anything, really. I've got big decisions to make, and I don't know what the right choice is."

"You'll make the right one, I'm sure. I know you, Harry. Whatever this choice is, I know that you always look out for others, putting them before yourself. You're a wise person. I know you'll make your decision based on what you truly believe is right."

Strangely enough, it was these words that made Harry's mind click over the last few degrees to align to make his choice. He would do it. To save Draco, to save his friends, to save everyone threatened by Voldemort, he would do it.

He turned to Ginny. "I've just made up my mind," he said with a smile barely there on his face. "Thank you. You convinced me to make what I knew was the right choice all alone."

She smiled happily. "Told you."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling a weight lifted off his chest. He stood up and offered a hand down to her. "May I escort you home?"

She took his hand and stood up to follow.

Having dropped Ginny off at her home, Harry continued on to his, trying to decide the best way to tell the Professor his decision. As he walked up the lane, he stopped short when he saw both the Professor and Snape in his neighbour's yard, chatting about something.

"Harry," the old man greeted kindly upon noticing his arrival. "I trust you are well."

He nodded, but kept his eyes on Snape, remembering what Dumbledore had said about his neighbour risking his life to keep Harry's safe. It was so out of character that Harry was finding it hard to believe.

"Potter," Snape muttered his own hello with a clenched jaw and an unyielding face.

Deciding to bypass small talk, Harry abruptly remarked, "You've been lying to Voldemort for me."

Snape's eyebrows lifted a fraction and he gave the Professor a questioning look, to which the old man replied, "Don't worry, Severus, he knows."

"How much?"

"Everything. I told him a few days ago."

Snape didn't appear to react at all to this and Harry would have guessed the man had fallen asleep where he was standing, if not for Snape's next question; "Was it wise to? He is only a boy."

Harry frowned. "Excuse me, I see no _boy_ here. I'm older than my father was when he left Slytherin."

"Your father was a fool," Snape growled.

Harry's eyes went wide with ire. "My father—!"

"Alright, alright," the Professor interrupted with his gentle voice. "Not now, gentlemen. I realise you have a lifetime of distaste towards each other, but now isn't the time for conflict amongst ourselves. We are all fighting for the same team."

Harry was finding that increasingly difficult to believe when Snape didn't seem to have a benevolent bone in his body. He wondered what could possibly have held sway over this man to make him abandon his allegiance with the Empire all those years ago, and turn spy for Dumbledore. It just made no sense.

"Now, Severus," the Professor began once more, "You were saying before Harry came …?"

Snape shot Harry one more look of contempt before replying, "Voldemort is contacting me again; asking me whether the boy's Kingdom is growing stronger, preparing for war. I fear he will attack soon and discover such a Kingdom doesn't exist."

"Actually …" Harry interrupted "… it might."

"What do you mean?"

"I've made my decision," Harry announced. The Professor smiled and looked at him proudly, as if he already knew what Harry's choice was. "I'll do it."

Dumbledore seemed to sigh in relief while Snape looked at them oddly. "Do what?" the greasy-haired man asked.

"Start that Kingdom you've been lying about."

Snape paused. "What, Gryffindor?"

"I'm its Heir, aren't I?"

Snape slowly turned to the Professor. "You _have_ told him everything, haven't you?"

"It's my right to know," Harry replied.

"You realise what this means, boy?" Snape growled. "If you agree to this, you will be making war with the world's most evil wizard."

Harry's mind shorted on the word _wizard_, but after everything the Professor had said about magic, he supposed it wasn't so hard to accept. "You know about magic then?" Harry asked Snape.

Snape looked at Harry with distaste and contempt, insulted by Harry's question. "More than you," he drawled superiorly, before pulling out a thin stick-like object and muttering, "_Levicorpus.__"_

Before Harry could blink, he suddenly found his world turned upside down as his legs were pulled up on top of him. He cried out it alarm, realising he was suddenly dangling in mid-air from his feet, while the tips of his hair skimmed the ground. It all happened in less than a second.

"Let me down!"

The Professor seemed to almost sigh amusedly before, Harry saw from his unnatural position, he pulled out his own stick and recited, "_Liberacorpus_."

"Ow!" Harry yelped as he fell on his head, gravity taking effect. He immediately stood up and stared at Snape angrily, who glared impassively back, as if daring Harry to test his magic abilities again. Harry silently decided he had learnt his lesson.

"Now then," the Professor spoke up while Harry and Snape glared at each other angrily, "Shall we go inside. We have much to talk about!"

Ten minutes later, Harry found himself back inside his living with a small group of his loved ones, with the exception of Snape who was brooding silently in the corner. The Professor insisted that he be there too, to Harry's dismay.

"What's all this about, then?" Ron asked, looking between Harry and Dumbledore, obviously wondering what he was doing there.

The Professor nodded to Harry, letting him answer. Harry swallowed. "Well … I've made my decision."

Ron looked at him, confused, while Hermione gasped happily.

"What decision?" Ron asked.

"I'm going to do it," Harry replied. "The whole … Gryffindor thing."

From his corner, Snape drawled, "_The__whole__Gryffindor__thing?_ Albus, are you sure he is the right person for the job?"

Harry shot Snape an irked look. He was pleased when the Professor said, "Harry is perfect for it."

"So what happens next? Now that Harry has made his choice," Hermione asked.

"I need a Kingdom, don't I?" Harry supplied. "I can't very well fight Slytherin without one."

"Your Kingdom will grow in time," the Professor said in a wise tone, as if he knew something Harry didn't; which, Harry mused, was very true. "But for now, I think it wise to travel north."

"North?"

"North is where Gryffindor was founded," the old man clarified.

Ron frowned. "You mean to say that big old wasteland above us, where there are no trees, no rivers, no … well, anything … is where Harry's supposed to build his Kingdom?"

"Precisely," Dumbledore chirped.

"Merlin help us," Ron muttered. Turning to Harry with a smirk, he said, "We were better off with you stuck in Slytherin."

Harry grinned back and threw a pillow at him.

"There is one more thing that must happen if you are truly going to be the King of Gryffindor," the Professor announced, looking suddenly a little anxious.

"What?" Ron prodded.

The old man gave Harry a weak smile. "Harry, you're going to need an Heir."

Harry paused. He stared at Dumbledore dumbly. Everyone else in the room seemed to freeze as well.

Thinking he didn't hear right, Harry asked, "I beg your pardon?"

"It's perfectly logical. You're the last surviving Heir of Gryffindor. If you die, it all dies with you. Before you do anything that might get you killed … you need an Heir."

Right on cue, as if Harry was watching a theatre production rather than living his own misfortunate life, who should walk in through his door but one Ginerva Weasley.

Everyone in the room stared at her, stunned.

"Miss Weasley!" the Professor said merrily, breaking the silence, "Sit, sit! I think you will find out topic of conversation rather illuminating!"

Ron suddenly burst out laughing, while Hermione seemed to struggle to hold in a smile. Harry, meanwhile, was silently shaking his fists at the heavens, wondering what he did in a past life for him to have ended up in this situation. He smiled awkwardly at Ginny, while she blushed and grinned back.

Ginny sat down. "I was just wondering where you all were until I saw the light on at Harry's, so I came."

"Wonderful!" praised Dumbledore.

Just as he opened his mouth to seemingly tell her she was expected to give birth to the next Heir of Gryffindor, Harry quickly jumped in. "Not now, Professor," he begged. "Don't." He didn't want Ginny to suddenly be overburdened with the news of his past and the expectations of his future. To be honest, he didn't want Ginny at all. But Harry kept this secret.

The Professor seemed to understand and remained quiet.

"What's going on?" Ginny inquired.

'You'll find out later, Ginny," Harry said to her.

She didn't seem too satisfied with his answer, but her to credit, she didn't question it anymore, reigning in her curiosity. Harry couldn't help but looking at her and knowing that this was the woman all of Hufflepuff expected him to marry. And now, she was the one who everyone in this room expected him to have a child with. It was all too much to even consider, when he knew he didn't love her. Not like he loved …

Harry frowned, feeling another pang of ache shoot his heart.

_ Draco._

How he wished he could simply talk to him again. He would tell Draco everything he had learnt since he returned, waiting for his advice. Ron had been joking when he said things were better with Harry in Slytherin; but Harry was beginning to think it was true. If he only had Draco with him, everything would be better.

"I think it's time to leave," the Professor spoke up after an extended silence. "Harry has a lot to think about." As they all stood up, Dumbledore added, "But Harry, we have to start letting people know. Eventually the truth will come out; but if we are to act, it must reveal itself sooner."

"I know," Harry agreed.

-mp-

"Harry Potter, King and Heir of the mighty Gryffindor!" Ron proclaimed enthusiastically, grinning stupidly.

"Shut up," Harry muttered, shoving his friend on the shoulder, causing him to stumble a little.

"You're right," Ron said, still smirking, "It's a bit of a mouthful."

"How about we just stick to Harry, then, yeah?"

"Oh but my _Lord_, I simply couldn't," Ron answered in a put-on high pitched voice. "Allow me to address you with all the respect and honour you require—"

"If you don't shut up, I will hurt you," Harry threatened.

Ron immediately drew his sword. "You think?"

"I _know_," Harry shot back, grinning, grabbing his own sword. "Ready when you are."

And with that, the two friends began their friendly brawl, letting their weapons do the talking. Harry felt enlivened as he relived so many moments in his past where he and his best friend would do exactly what they were doing now. Brawling with Ron had always been one of his favourite things to do.

"Oh, honestly, is now really the time for this?" came a frustrated female voice from near them.

Harry and Ron stopped moving and, breathing hard, stared at Hermione.

"Yes?" Ron guessed.

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, shouldn't you be …" she trailed off.

"Shouldn't I be what?"

She motioned with her hands. "Doing something about … what you're going to be doing. You can't just ignore what will happen to you, to all of us."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I don't want to think about it," Harry admitted. "Sometimes, like now, all I want to do is pretend I never knew about it all. I just want to be normal."

She smiled. "You never were normal."

Harry snorted. "Thanks," he said dryly. "But shouldn't I be fighting, anyway? If I'm going to be defeating whats-his-face …"

"Voldemort," Hermione supplied.

Ron shuddered. "Just the sound of his name makes me feel weird. I mean, couldn't he have picked something a bit nicer?"

"That's the whole point, Ron," Harry smirked.

"Have you talked to the Professor?" Hermione asked, diverting the conversation back to her intention.

"Not today."

"Well, I did. He wants to hold a meeting to let people know what we're doing," she said.

"What?" Harry blurted. "Why?"

"We can't just uproot and leave without providing some explanation," Hermione reasoned.

"Yes, but I don't want everyone to know about who I am," Harry countered, already grimacing at the idea of people knowing that he was the Heir of Gryffindor.

"They won't," she replied calmly. "But they need to know why we're going."

"And what will you tell them?" Ron asked.

"That the time has come to stop the evil of the Empire. Everyone in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw already despises Slytherin, even if they don't know who Voldemort is. The point is, they'll need very little to convince them to fight back once and for all. And once we've told my father and all the elders of the two Kingdoms … that's it. We'll already be at war."

Harry raised his eyebrows and paused for a moment. "The annoying thing is, I can't say anything to argue that."

Hermione grinned smugly, an expression that made Harry suddenly think of Draco and for a brief moment, be filled with awful sadness. "Lovely," she said cheerfully. "We should go meet with the Professor to plan out the details."

Harry groaned and regretfully sheathed his sword. Ron followed his motion.

Half-way back to Harry's house, Ron spoke up. "Have you talked to my sister yet?"

Wincing inside, Harry tried to think of a tactful way to get out of this conversation before hearts were broken.

But before he could speak up, Ron continued, "Because, you know, she's completely in love with you, so it sort of works out perfectly."

Harry sighed and messed up his hair with an agitated hand. He was sorely tempted to speak up and tell both he and Hermione that he did not love Ginny in that way, and let the matter die out, so that he could continue to fantasise about the impossibility of a relationship with Draco. But the reality was, the pressure on him to have a child was enormous, the expectation to marry Ginny was overwhelming, and Harry had no way to say no and still sound credible. He couldn't very well say he simply didn't like Ginny, because marriages of consequence had almost always been done out of duty, rather than love. He didn't need to _love_ Ginny to marry her. At least, that's what everyone else thought.

"No, I haven't talked to her since," Harry finally replied.

"Fair enough," Ron said with an oblivious shrug, "But if you don't make me your best man, I might kill you."

Harry smiled. "As if I'd ask anyone else."

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: "Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?"_

_ A/N: Don't kill me! _


	35. Duties and Dreams

_A/N: I received a few threats for the last chapter =) ... So I thought I'd clarify something before you read this chapter. This is a bona fide, certified Harry/Draco story, meaning by the end of it, they will end up together. However, you should all know by now that I live and breathe angst. If there's a way to make their relationship more difficult, I'll go there =)_

_I hope you enjoy this one!_

-mp-

Chapter 34

**Duties and Dreams**

It was a whole week before the news was spread all throughout Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and an initial party of twenty left for the wasteland in the north, led by Harry and the Professor. It shocked Harry how the news had been received by everyone. Excitement, anticipation and relief seemed to seep through all the villages and towns of the two lesser Kingdoms at the idea of finally ridding them of the evil of Slytherin.

It was only a select few that knew the true reasoning behind it. As Harry looked around at nineteen others who had travelled north with him, now setting up camp, he knew that it was only these who knew the real danger resided in an enigma who called himself Voldemort.

Harry's eyes searched the horizon of the Nullius that stretched before him. It hurt him to know that Draco was on the far side of the enormous expanse of and, waiting in Slytherin—the very place Harry and his team wanted to fight. He wanted to send word to Draco of all that had happened since he had left, but he knew there was no feasible method to do it. Not unless he compromised their whole mission. Still, the desire to be with Draco again was haunting him.

He turned back around and saw Ron and Hermione off to the side, heads close to each other, as if they were sharing a tender moment. Harry had to look away quickly, already feeling his heart start to ache. Fate was cruel to have separated him from Draco so soon.

"And now, we rest," came the weary voice of the Professor, who was plodding up to Harry. "You've been very brave, Harry, to lead us all here."

Harry looked at him strangely. "I did nothing. You led us."

"You've already done so much, my boy. We wouldn't all be here if it wasn't for you."

"Yeah …" Harry murmured miserably, still looking out at the horizon sadly, but feeling the Professor's knowing gaze on the side of his face.

"Your mind isn't here with us, is it?" the old man asked curiously.

"Sorry?"

"I can see it in your eyes," he said, "You're thinking of something … or someone."

Harry tore his gaze off the horizon and gave the Professor a look. "What do you mean?" he asked with a warning in his tone.

"Ever since your return, I have sensed that something has been different with you. You're not as happy as you were."

Harry snorted. "You try putting the weight of the world on someone else's shoulders and see what it does to them."

"No, it's not that. It's something else. It's the look of a man who is longing for something but knows he can't have it."

Harry paused and swallowed, feeling his heart thud loudly. He didn't say a word.

"I've seen it before," the old man said. Then he smiled sadly. "Remus had that same look on his face twenty years ago."

"Remus?" Harry echoed.

The Professor nodded. "When the one he loved was taken from him and imprisoned far away."

Harry's eyes widened. "Remus was in love?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"He was always so adamant that he had never been in a relationship before."

"It broke his heart, so he never said anything about it since," the Professor told him. "It was the biggest shame. I had never seen Remus so happy."

"What happened?"

"False accusations, misleading thoughts …" the Professor said in an unnervingly casual voice. "Everyone thought something that wasn't the truth, which caused the wrong person to be thrown into prison, and Remus was left alone ever since."

Harry turned to stare back out at the Nullius, a deep sense of loss hovering inside him, the memory of Draco in his arms making emotion build up behind his eyes. He couldn't believe Remus had lost the love of his life like that.

"There's someone out there you miss, isn't there?" the wise old man asked kindly.

"Someone," Harry repeated in a sorrow-filled murmur.

"And?"

Harry looked at the Professor. "And what? There's nothing I can do about it now," he answered bitterly. "Everyone, including you, expects me to marry Ginny and have a child with her. Besides, even if there weren't any expectations, some things are still impossible."

"In what way?"

Harry laughed humourlessly. "Are you really going to give me relationship advice?"

"If I have to," the old man said with a small smile.

Harry shook his head. "It just wouldn't work," he said, hardly believing he was having such a conversation with a man old enough to be his great grandfather. "Too many things stand in the way." _Not__to__mention__the__fact__that__both__Draco__and__I__are__male,_ Harry thought to himself with heavy sarcasm.

"What things?"

Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "You don't want to know," he said dismissively, hoping the conversation would end.

The Professor sighed, sensing Harry's note of resignation. "I won't lie to you; I know there is expectation for you to marry Miss Weasley. But that doesn't mean there aren't other ways around it. If you really don't love her … if your heart is set somewhere else, then you don't have to be forced into something you don't want."

"But I still need to have a child," Harry reminded him dryly.

"Ginerva isn't the only woman who is—"

"That's my point, Professor," Harry interrupted, staring at the Professor with a meaningful look, wondering if he was making himself understood.

Harry shouldn't have doubted the old man's intuition. Instantly, a look of understanding crossed his face, and Harry swore he could already feel his scornful looks. "Exactly," Harry murmured dejectedly, "Some King I am."

The Professor looked away to the horizon and stood in silence for a long moment. Harry was sure he was thinking of ways to tell Harry he was a disgrace and a disappointment, and that this whole mission would be ruined because of him. Dumbledore's answer came eventually, and it shocked Harry to the core.

"Did I tell you, Harry, that the person Remus loved … was a man by the name of Sirius Black?"

Harry almost swallowed his tongue and he stared at the Professor with large eyes. It was a long moment before he remembered how to move. "What?" he asked dumbly.

The old man had a bright blue twinkle in his eyes. "It's true. Remus and Sirius met when they were sixteen, had a brief but wonderful relationship for three years, before Sirius Black was falsely imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit."

Harry felt like the words coming out of the Professor's mouth were nonsensical. How can any of that be true? "But … he never said anything," Harry murmured.

"He wanted to forget. But something like that, you can't simply forget."

Harry frowned. "Why are you telling me this, Professor?"

"To let you know that you aren't alone," the old man answered.

"But I am. If what you're implying is true, then there is only one person in the world you can make me feel like I'm not alone. But if I'm to marry a girl I don't love, I'm destined to be lonely my whole life. Like Remus is." Harry returned his wistful gaze to the Nullius, wondering that if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see Draco on the other side. "There's nothing you or I can do, Professor. I have to just forget about it, like Remus has been trying."

Silence stretched between the two of them although Harry was certain the Professor had a million other things to say. Still, he remained silent, for which Harry was glad. He wasn't sure how much longer he could continue talking about being so far from Draco.

The sun set and a few of the men started a fire in the centre of their small camp. Harry and the Professor ambled back to the group and joined in for dinner Ron's mother had prepared.

Harry knew he was right: all he had to do was to try and forget about Draco and focus on the task before them.

-mp-

For the next few nights, Harry's dreams were overwhelmed with thoughts of Draco, and he would wake up with tears in his eyes and an unending sorrow in his heart. How long was this supposed to go on? How much could a man take? How had Remus done it for twenty years?

He often found himself sitting alone by the small campfire, feeding it small sticks and pieces of bark while mindlessly watching the activity around him. Their encampment was slowly beginning to grow in size and number and Harry knew he should play his part, but he couldn't find the energy in himself. He simply observed the Professor and other elders manage their mission, wondering what they were expecting of him.

Ron and Hermione would ask him if he was alright, but he couldn't answer them truthfully, not when their own affection for each other was a painful reminder of what he couldn't have for himself.

"You don't seem well, Harry," he heard Ginny's voice say to him on one early evening, while he tended to the fire, and watched its mesmerising flames dance before his eyes.

"Just thinking," he answered thickly.

"You do that an awful lot."

Harry smirked. "Got a lot to think about."

She sighed and plodded herself down beside him, pulling her shawl tightly around her. Harry could feel her looking at him but he kept his eyes locked on the fire. He didn't know what she wanted him to say to her. They both knew what was expected to happen between the two of them, and it was like a terrible smell that hovered in the air between them, one they couldn't avoid forever.

Harry pitied her, more than himself; forced into a relationship with a man who loved someone else.

"Harry …" she began with another deep sigh "… do you love me?"

Whatever she was going to say, Harry wasn't expecting _that_. He froze and slowly turned his head to meet her gaze, almost fearful to see what the expression on her face was. To his surprise, it wasn't hopeful, or desperate or filled with desire. Rather, she was looking at him openly, with a vulnerable and pliant look that made Harry feel like he could see right through her.

"Actually, don't answer that," she amended calmly, "I think I know your answer already."

"Look, Ginny …"

"No, don't worry," she said, placing a lock of her red hair behind her ear. "It can't be easy for you."

"Nor for you," he added. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I really am. You don't need to be forced into this."

"But unlike you," she said very quietly, so that Harry had to strain to listen, "I love you."

Harry's breath caught. He didn't speak. There was nothing he could say.

"I'm not waiting for you to say the same," she said quickly, "But maybe it might make it a little easier for you to know what I feel." She finally looked away, down to her lap, looking a little self-conscious.

Harry founds his voice. "You amaze me, Ginny," he said honestly. "There are very few as brave as you are."

"I just want to help. I know what the future holds for you, and it won't be easy. But I thought if there is just one way I can help you, then I would do it."

Harry smiled sadly, knowing that if he wasn't in love with Draco, he might actually learn to love this new Ginny. She was worlds apart from the little girl he was once knew. What sat before him now was a mature woman who knew what was expected of her, and accepted it despite the fear of rejection. Harry decided she was more courageous than he was, and that if he was forced to marry someone, Ginny wouldn't be a bad choice.

"You are helping," he told her, nodding gratefully. "I know what's expected of us, and despite my feelings, you are making this a whole lot easier."

She smiled and took his hand, but said nothing. She simply stared into Harry's eyes, until Harry grew comfortable in that position.

His heart was still with Draco; nothing short of death could change that. But this was much bigger than he, and he needed to make the right decision. So he swallowed, getting down on one knee before her. "Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?" he asked her, a sharp pain striking his heart.

Her smile grew a little as she clutched a hand to her heart dramatically and exclaimed sarcastically, "Why, Harry, I thought you'd never ask." Harry let a small smile grace his face, despite it all. Her response made him feel a little better. "Yes, of course," she answered.

He leant up and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Ginny," he said, trying to ignore the deep aching inside him that pined for Draco.

-mp-

A month later, Harry found himself standing before a modest crowd of people who had journeyed north to the wasteland where their growing encampment was set up, with Ron at his side and the Professor behind him. Dressed in his full armour, he was waiting for his bride to come to him, on the arm of her father.

To Harry, it was all surreal; that he was getting married, that Gryffindor was slowly growing, that people were beginning to see him as their leader.

Harry felt like he was living someone else's life.

And when Ginny appeared before him, Harry was sure another man should have been waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

Before the congregation, they were pledged to each other. Man and wife. There were tears and smiles, and laughter for the rest of the day—a brief moment of joy in the grand scheme of the war they were preparing for. Harry made sure to never forget about the bigger picture. He was doing all this for the people he loved. If he ever forgot this, he was sure he would jump on the nearest horse and race back to Slytherin, back to Draco.

He was sorely tempted to do just that when the night drew to an end and the guests all went back to their different camps, leaving Harry alone with his new bride. The Professor had told him weeks ago that the sooner he had an Heir, the sooner their plans could move on. But giving himself to Ginny, and having Ginny give herself to Harry, was the biggest betrayal Harry had ever felt. It should have been easy, but Harry's heart had been torn to pieces when he bound himself to her as a husband would his wife.

It wasn't fair to both of them, but their lives were dictated by something neither of them could control.

-mp-

Harry dreamed Draco was dying.

He dreamed Voldemort had discovered his and Draco's secret and was torturing Draco for it. An unnatural, blinding red light was shooting out of Voldemort's wand and Draco was writhing on the ground, clutching his stomach in agony.

"HARRY!" Draco screamed, calling out for him.

"Where is he?" Voldemort snapped, glaring at Draco's shuddering form.

"Make it stop! _Please!_"

"Tell me where he is!"

"_I__don__'__t__know!_ STOP! PLEASE!" Draco half-screamed, half-moaned.

The red light from Voldemort's wand ceased and Draco stopped moving, barely panting for air, tears leaking out of his eyes. His body was curled in a foetal position, as if he could protect himself against Voldemort's wrath.

"For the third time, you disgusting boy, _where__is__Harry__Potter_?"

Draco gathered enough strength to raise his head and glare at the evil man with tear-filled eyes. "I'll never tell you," he said through a clenched jaw.

Voldemort sneered. "_Crucio!_"

"AHHHHH…."

Harry woke up with Draco's name on his lips. "Draco!" he gasped into the night. He was breathing hard, his heart was beating madly in cold terror, and his eyes were wet.

"Harry?" he heard Ginny's sleep-heavy voice from beside him. He started at her voice, still not used to having her sleep next to him, even three weeks into their marriage. She shuffled in the blankets and sat up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He closed his eyes, trying to forget the image of Draco's suffering.

"You're drenched in sweat," Ginny observed. "What's wrong?"

Ache filled his heart. "Bad dream," he murmured.

"Who's Draco?" she asked

Harry paused and swallowed down a deep feeling of heartache. "No one," he replied. "Go back to sleep."

Mercifully, she did. Harry on the other hand, knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now. His nightmare was fresh in his mind. And besides, sleeping next to Ginny while he was thinking about Draco seemed perversely wrong.

Dressing himself in his coat and shoes, Harry left his and Ginny's hut and walked out into the early morning crispness. He looked around their camp and was once again struck by how quickly their numbers had grown. More than a hundred people were now living here with them, while thousands others living in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff pledged their allegiance to Harry. It was far cry from the twenty they started with.

They had begun construction as well. Foundations for a large military base had been set up, while watch towers had been erected all around them, manned at all times. Ron's mother had taken charge of setting up a kitchen area with a large mess hall attached, where they frequented for their meals. Shacklebolt led training sessions daily, which, in true Shacklebolt-style, left all the men weary and exhausted by the end of it.

The Professor had been right; Gryffindor was truly coming together.

Harry did a double take when he saw the Professor himself sitting around the unlit campfire circle alone. Harry watched in surprise as the old man took out his wand, pointed it at the pile of burnt out sticks and coal and whispered a word.

"_Incendio!_"

Suddenly, a fire sprung up out of nowhere, and Dumbledore rubbed his hands together happily, warming himself, as if conjuring something out of nothing was commonplace for him. Harry mused that it probably was.

He walked over to the old man and sat beside him. "Nice fire," he commented, still not fully used to the idea of magic, but slowly understanding it.

"Thank you, Harry," the Professor said cheerfully. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, brief flashes of his horrible dream returning to him. "Professor," he began, turning to him, "do you believe that dreams … or nightmares … can be real?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Sometimes, yes," was the answer. "Sometimes, dreams can be visions. They tell you of the future."

Harry was filled with ice at the thought that he had seen the future. Would Draco be tortured like that? "How do you know if it's a dream or a vision?"

"Well, you don't," the Professor answered simply. "It takes a trained mind to determine between the two. But I find, from my own experience, that visions are often far more vivid than dreams. When you have a dream, and you wake up from it, there are always parts about it you can't remember very well. Visions, on the other hand, are very easy to recall."

Harry breathed out a large breath and felt his stomach sink in horror. It had been a vision, then, Harry decided. No dream of his had ever been as real as what he saw last night. Draco was going to be tortured. He closed his eyes tightly.

"Is something bothering you?" the Professor asked.

"I feel trapped," Harry confessed, his voice full of emotion. "Like I'm stuck here when I know I should be out there. It's not fair, Professor. I'm supposed to save the world, but I can't even save …" he trailed off. _I__can__'__t__save__Draco._ "I feel like I'm not doing anything worthwhile."

"But you are, Harry. Look around you. All these people, and more, have decided to follow you because they trust you. They have faith that you will lead them. And you will lead them well."

"But what if I just … quit," Harry added, even though he knew he never would. It was just nice to entertain the thought that he could walk away.

"You could," the Professor said with a shrug. "But if I know you at all, you never would. You have too much good in you to let evil spread. I know you will do everything you can to protect the ones you love."

Harry sighed. "What about the one I love most?" he asked in a whisper.

"He, too."

Harry looked at the Professor, glad he had told the old man about Draco, even if neither of them knew how they would ever achieve happily-ever-after. Now that he had married Ginny, it was impossible.

The Professor smiled at him and nudged Harry's hand with a stick. Harry looked down and saw his wand.

"Take it," the old man suggested.

Harry did, feeling slightly odd. The idea of fighting with a stick the size of his forearm, rather than a sword, seemed insane.

"Try _lumos_," the Professor said.

Harry frowned and stared at the wand. He held it out in front of him and murmured, "_lumos_."

A rush of energy flowed through Harry before a tiny white light appeared on the end of the wand. Harry's eyes grew large. A second later, the light dulled and died.

"Was that magic?" Harry asked stupidly.

The Professor chuckled. "Of course! Focus harder this time. Don't let the light die out."

"_Lumos_," Harry chanted, watching in shock as the wand-tip lit up, spreading unnatural light all around him. "This is weird," Harry opined, his eyes glued on the end of the wand. After a moment of waving the wand around, Dumbledore informed him how to cease the light. "_Nox_," Harry whispered and the light vanished. "Where can I get one of these?" he asked excitedly.

The Professor chuckled. "You will eventually. Magic is almost entirely lost now. Apart from myself, Severus and Tom Riddle, no one else on earth has a wand, nor the power to wield it. And even then, our abilities are limited. The life force of magic is almost dead. And now, Riddle is obsessed with getting it back."

Harry nodded. "Which is why he wants the Red Sword," he added.

"The Sword is filled with magic. Once it is retrieved, magic will be released once more." The Professor sighed long-sufferingly. "I admit, I too want the power within the Sword to be released. This world deserves to know magic as it once did. But in the hands of Riddle, everything will fall to pieces. We must make sure that Riddle never gets his hands on the Sword, Harry. You must retrieve it and you must wield it to destroy him."

"But how will I know what to do when I have the Sword? I'm not a wizard."

The Professor's eyes twinkled happily. "But you are. When the time comes, you will know how to use it."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, not knowing what that meant.

"The only problem is," the Professor added, "No one knows where the Sword is."

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought for a brief moment before he remembered the mysterious Voice in the Dark Forest.

"I think I have an idea."

Dumbledore gave him a pleasantly surprised look and was about to speak when one of Harry's friends with whom he had grown up training, Seamus, came galloping into their camp.

"Professor, Harry," he said, panting slightly, as if he had just ridden straight from Hufflepuff. He jumped off his horse and approached them.

"Good morning, Mr Finnigan," the Professor greeted.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I've just returned from one of our outer watch posts. I was tasked with manning one of them throughout the night," Seamus explained, referring to one of a dozen watch towers Harry had insisted they erect a month ago to report any happenings beyond their land. Seamus had been stationed on the one nearest the Empire. Harry was surprised he had arrived in such good time.

"Merlin, Seamus, did you _fly_ here?" Harry asked, incredulous.

Seamus smirked, looking a little smug. "I'm a better rider than you, Harry. One of the few things I can boast about." His playful smile dropped then. "But I have news."

"What?"

"Slytherin has ended their attack of Durmstrang."

"What?" Harry repeated, this time shocked. "But … they've been fighting for months! They've invested their whole army into that battle!"

"I know," Seamus agreed. "But I saw what must have been three legions of infantry being herded back into the main city. More are returning as we speak."

"Well … did they win?" Harry asked.

"Aye," Seamus replied. "The banners they were returning with were white."

Harry nodded vaguely. If their banners had been black, it meant they were defeated. "So Durmstrang has fallen?"

The Professor looked solemn. "A six-month war isn't long enough to decimate a whole kingdom. I don't think Durmstrang is defeated."

"But Slytherin would not have stopped attacking until they were sure their enemy was destroyed," Harry reasoned.

Dumbledore gave him a look. "Can you think of no other reason why the war would be over so soon?"

Harry's eyebrows dipped in confusion and he stared off into the distance for a long while. "Durmstrang surrendered?"

The Professor's blue eyes twinkled with his approval. "Correct," he praised.

Seamus frowned. "Such a mighty kingdom as Durmstrang wouldn't just surrender, surely!"

"You forget," the Professor said wisely, "that Riddle is controlling Slytherin and his powers far surpass sword and spear." The old man sat back and adjusted his robes. "Riddle is building his army. He has somehow manipulated Durmstrang into gaining its army and adding it to his."

Harry's eyes expanded. "You mean Slytherin's army has just _doubled_ in size?"

"I certainly wouldn't be shocked if that were true." The Professor smiled at Harry. "He's going to need everything in his arsenal to fight you."

Harry shot him a look. "I can't fight against two armies, Professor. We've barely got a legion as it is!"

"That's another thing," Seamus spoke up. "While doing my patrol, I saw a Slytherin scouting party nearby. I hid, of course, but I overheard them talking about plans for a new war."

Harry didn't like the sound of that.

"They mentioned that the King was ordering the army to prepare for the greatest battle of this generation against a mighty power in the north."

"God," Harry murmured. "_A__mighty__power_? Where do they get their information from? And how does Lucius know about us? I thought we were keeping this a secret."

"You can't very well hide a kingdom, Harry," the old man said patiently. "They can't miss us."

"I wouldn't call this a kingdom," Harry said with a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Everyone else is," the Professor said simply. "And besides, Riddle has been waiting for this moment for twenty years. He will have taken every possible precaution to know everything."

Harry cast a sideways glance at the old man. "You're awfully calm about this," he pointed out.

"Because I trust you to lead us."

Harry threw his arms up in the air, frustrated. "Well that makes one of us."

"Two," Seamus added.

Harry glared at him. "So what now? It's two armies against … less than one."

"But we have access to a weapon against which sword stand no chance," the Professor reminded him, looking pointedly at Harry. Harry remembered the conversation they were having not five minutes ago about the magic hidden in the Sword he would have to retrieve. "With it, Harry, we can laugh in the face of the most unfavourable odds."

_I__'__ve __got __to __get __my __hands __on __that __bloody __Sword_, Harry thought.

-mp-

_ Next __Chapter: __Harry __and __Ron __embark __on __a __rescue __mission __to __Azkaban. __It__'__s __time __to __free __some __Marauders_ =)


	36. A Rescue Mission

Chapter 35

**A Rescue Mission**

Despite Harry's determination of finally retrieving the Red Sword and harnessing its power, Dumbledore kept insisting that they needed to increase their numbers before they acted.

And so, Harry was forced to wait.

The problem was, Harry had never been able to sit still for any decent length of time and he was sick and tired of doing nothing. His days consisted of nothing but mindless training, eating, and watching their encampment grow larger and larger with new people arriving every week to join their cause. Harry felt a personal responsibility for each one of them. He also kept catching glimpses of Ron and Hermione drawing nearer and nearer toward each other in private, causing all sorts of aches to consume him.

But what was by far the worst was the expectation for he and Ginny to have a child. Harry felt enormously uncomfortable when a group of motherly women kept hounding Ginny and checking whether or not her monthly cycle had occurred yet. Ron, on the other hand, had begun jabbing him with his elbow and telling him to "get a move on and have a kid". Harry felt like punching him.

In all honestly, he and Ginny had tried a few times, but to no avail. It seemed the propensity Ginny's parents had when reproducing did not translate to their daughter. Two months into their marriage, Ginny was still without child, and Harry just felt like giving up.

Devoting all his energy into making a baby with a woman he didn't love was not his idea of productive living, so he found himself furiously strapping his armour on his body one morning, with a grim look set on his face.

"Going somewhere?" Ron asked, walking into the armoury they had set up. He crossed his arms and leant against a pole.

"Yeah. Away," Harry answered shortly, buckling his shoulder guard into place, before reaching for his leather gloves.

"Where?"

"To rescue Remus," Harry answered impulsively.

"Remus?"

"Problem?"

"Er, yes … he's in _Azkaban_," Ron enunciated, looking at Harry as if he had gone mental. Harry could almost believe it.

"I know." He slipped his gloves on and began to pace around the room looking for something.

"Harry, wait, stop. What are you doing?"

Harry glared at him. "I just told you. Now where's my sword?"

"Why are you going to Remus?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Ron paused. "But you've never mentioned it before. Why now?"

Harry growled hotly, "Yes, I have mentioned it before. It's just that everyone's more interested in wondering whether or not I'm having sex with Ginny, than rescuing an innocent man who was thrown in jail!"

Ron flinched, and Harry was almost tempted to feel apologetic, but he didn't. He wasn't even embarrassed by what he said; how could he be when perfect _strangers_ kept talking about his private doings and wondering when he would have a child.

"Harry, mate, calm down."

"I _am_ calm, Ron. I just need to do something. I don't care if you don't agree with me; I don't need your permission to go and find Remus—"

"I know you don't, Harry, but could you just wait a second?"

"Why?"

"So I can put my armour on as well."

Harry frowned. "You're not coming with me."

"The hell I'm not! Harry, you're speaking like a madman. I'm not about to let you run off to some godforsaken prison on your own—"

"You, you can and you will." Harry marched to the door.

Ron stopped him. "Just _wait_, will you?"

"No," Harry growled back stubbornly. "I'm doing this on my own, Ron. Let me go."

Ron threw his arms up. "What's wrong with you, Harry? Ever since you came back from the Empire, you've been like this! Like you don't care about anything—"

"_Don__'__t __care?_" Harry echoed angrily. "How can you even say that? I have done everything everyone has asked of me! I've abandoned my normal life, I've married Ginny, I'm trying to have a kid with her, I'm leading this camp of people. Not _once_ have I done something I want to do! Not _once_ have I thought about myself! So don't you dare tell me I don't care, because if that were true, I wouldn't even _be_ here!"

Ron stopped, with his blue eyes wide. "Harry …"

"My life has just been one big mess in the past few months, and you're not making this any easier," Harry added, surprised to find that he could feel tears developing behind his eyes. "You are Hermione running around the place, trying to stay out of sight."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I told you before, Ron; ages ago. That nothing could ever happen between a Ravenclaw Princess and a lowly knight, so why do you keep doing it? Nothing will ever happen."

Ron's face dropped into stunned anger.

"You have no right to be with Hermione, Ron. She's not the one for you. She's supposed to marry some nobleman, in some castle, somewhere far from here—"

"Shut up."

"No! Know why? Because it's wrong and I'm trying to make you see that you can't marry her, or have kids with her, or live the life you want to—"

"Shut _up_!" Ron yelled.

"It's not bloody fair!" Harry cried back. "How can you be with the person you love, who is so different from you by any standard, and I can't? What makes you so special?"

"What are you talking about?" Ron shot back at him.

Harry froze, biting back his words and feeling them shrivel in his throat. He was breathing hard and staring at Ron through misty eyes.

_Draco. __He __was __talking __about __Draco._

Harry felt like tearing out his hair. Then he saw Ron looking at him with anger and his resolve broke. Suddenly, his knees buckled and he wept.

Ron, to his credit, didn't laugh, or walk away or deliver some scathing remark. Instead, he joined Harry on the ground and sat beside him, silent. When Harry felt his tears subside, he lifted his head and stared at his friend. "I'm sorry, Ron."

"I know," he said softly.

"I didn't mean anything against you and Hermione," Harry said honestly.

Ron nodded and once again slipped into silence.

After a long moment, Ron got up, walked to the other end of the armoury and found Harry's sword. "Still planning that rescue mission?"

Harry smiled. "Still planning on coming with me, despite the arse I've been?"

"When has you being an arse ever stopped me before?"

Harry half-snorted and stood up. "Come on then."

"Are we going to ask anyone else to come with us?" Ron asked.

"We should," Harry admitted. "Two men against Azkaban aren't good prospects. But I don't really want anyone else to come."

Ron smiled. "Just the two of us?"

"Just the two of us."

Less than an hour later, Harry and Ron had saddled two horses and were on their way. They left a note pinned to the Professor's tent, but decided not to tell anyone. They'd find out soon enough.

-mp-

It was nightfall by the time they reached the western shore, and a couple more minutes until they had procured a boat from a small dock .

"Suddenly, I wished we had a whole army with us," Ron said, staring out at the navy blue ocean in the direction of the horrible prison.

Harry grinned as he pushed the small boat into the water's edge. "Don't tell me you're scared," he teased.

"Don't tell me you're not," Ron replied.

Harry shrugged. "A little. But I've encountered worse and lived to tell the tale."

"Like what?"

"A lion. And a giant from Durmstrang."

Ron did a double-take. "Excuse me?

Harry only laughed.

Ron made a face. "What were they _doing_ to you in the Empire?"

"I can definitely say it was never boring," Harry replied with a fond smile on his face. "Those Slytherins; they like to keep you on your toes."

Ron gave him a curious look.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Ron said with a shrug.

Harry's smile returned to him, as did the memories of his time in Slytherin. He couldn't believe it had been more than two months since he had returned. Two months since he'd seen Draco. "I was a Champion, you know; fighting, doing what I love." He recalled his fight in the Tournament and remembering that he had done it all for Draco. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.

"Sounds more like you had a holidays than being held hostage," Ron opined.

Harry stopped. It was easy to forget that he had been a prisoner at his arrival into the Empire, especially when he had been begging Draco to let him stay at the end. "It's not as bad as you think it is, Ron."

"You used to think the Empire was the devil's place," Ron reminded him.

"Not everyone in the Empire is evil," Harry told him, vaguely remembering Remus telling him something like that once. Harry hadn't believed him back then; but now he knew it to be true.

Ron shook his head and looked at Harry incredulously. "Can't believe how different you are."

"People change," Harry remarked, with a small smile on his face. He pushed their little boat into the choppy water.

Ron helped him and together they leapt into the vessel, Ron up the front, and began stroking their oars into the water.

For a long while neither of them spoke. When Azkaban came into view, Ron spoke up, "How do we know Remus is still alive?"

Harry frowned and looked out at the looming prison. "We don't," he answered soberly. "But only the sight of his corpse will convince me he is dead. Apart from that, I'm not giving up."

"There's the Harry I know," Ron murmured to himself.

Harry smirked.

Again, silence joined them on their boat for a handful of minutes before Ron asked, "Harry … how do you Remus is here? I mean, who in Slytherin would have told you this is where they're keeping him?"

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop and he didn't say a word for a long time. "I overheard someone," he lied eventually.

He saw Ron nod in understanding, while the memory of having Draco in his arms, in his bed, invaded his mind. He frowned to himself and shook his head. _Forget __it, __Harry. __It__'__s __not __going __to __happen._

Their boat nudged the rock face of Azkaban's rocky foundation ten minutes later and the two of them jumped out, swords already drawn.

"Do we have a plan?" Ron whispered to him.

"Get Remus out," Harry responded.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I was hoping for something a little more detailed, actually."

"Go in, find Remus, unlock his cell, help him out, run back down, get in the boat and sail away." Harry smirked. "Better?"

Ron gave him a look. "Loads."

"Just be alert for anything."

"Just one problem," Ron said.

"Just one?" Harry joked. "You're doing better than me."

"How exactly do we get in?" Ron asked. "In case you haven't noticed, the door isn't exactly wide open and welcoming." He gestured to the weathered, ancient door that was padlocked shut and looking like it hadn't been opened in centuries.

Harry frowned and was trying to think of answer to Ron's question when, startling both of them, the door opened from the inside.

Ron opened his mouth to yelp in shock, but Harry slapped a hand over his friend's mouth and gestured for him to _shut __up_.

They watched with wide eyes and a prison guard stepped out and, of all surprises, tugged his breaches down and began relieving himself into the water.

Ron made a disgusted face but Harry bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing in amusement and relief. What luck!

He crept up behind the guard and stealthily raised his sword over the unsuspecting warden's head. Swiftly, he brought the hilt of his weapon down in a loud _thump_ and knocked the guard's skull hard. The man didn't even have time to yell in pain before he collapsed against the rock face, completely unconscious.

"Problem solved," Harry declared.

"Yeah, because you just _knew_ he would come out to urinate right then and there," Ron mocked.

"Of course." Harry grinned. "Now come on."

They crept in, like thieves in the night.

Inside, the place felt haunted with the cries of decaying men. Harry shivered in cold and saw Ron do the same. They looked up and couldn't see the ceiling. Instead, they saw rows upon rows of locked cells.

"Is this hell?" Ron asked in a whisper.

"I think so. And to think Remus is here," Harry responded in a near-mute voice.

"How do we even start to look for him?"

Harry was about to answer when a low, gravelly voice spoke up from behind them instead.

"Why don't I give you the tour?" the low voice mocked.

Harry spun, sword up and ready. Ron did too, and they faced a trio of prison guards, all enormous and hairy, with swords crusted in dried blood aloft.

_Two __against __three_, Harry thought, _not __bad._

Harry twirled his sword and answered the question that was asked for them. "Would you? We would be much obliged."

The middle guard snarled. "What did you want to see first? The execution room? Or my sword?"

"So much choice," Harry answered sarcastically.

The guard on the left said, "Put your weapon away, boy. It'll be easier to kill you that way."

"No thanks, I think I'll keep it. Besides, what makes you think you'll be the ones doing the killing?"

"The odds. You're outnumbered."

Ron joined in the mockery. "We'll take out chances," he said with a smug look on his face.

The middle guard smirked as well and called out, "Avery!"

Harry had no idea who Avery was but he didn't like the sound of what was going on. And for good reason. Moments later, five other guards came to stand behind the trio already present. Now, all eight of them stared at Harry and Ron with identical looks of menace, and all eight looked like they were out for blood to add to their collection of prisoners.

_Eight __against __two, _Harry amened. _Not __good._

"This is hardly fair," Harry said.

"Who said anything about being fair?"

"Point," Harry conceded.

Ron shot him a look, as if to say, _come __up __with __something __clever __to __say!_ Harry, regretfully, had nothing.

"Now," the middle guard said, "let's dance."

All eight sprung forward.

It took Harry a split-second to make the decision to run instead of fight. Fight, and they could very well be killed or at least seriously injured. Run, and they could get a head start on finding Remus. Of course, they had no idea where he was. But luck had been on their side before, perhaps it would now.

So, in the split-second after the eight prison guards started moving, Harry called out, "Run!"

Harry and Ron sprinted to the winding stone staircase that spiralled up the sides of the prison walls and began their journey up. Harry took a moment to thank the fates that both he and Ron were lean and fit and had been trained to run fast and long all their lives. Their eight pursuers looked like they would tire after a hundred metres.

"Where are we going?" Ron asked him as they went up and up, past rows of cells.

"Up!" was Harry's only answer.

"But _where_?"

"Just _up_!"

"Bloody hell, Harry, give me a decent answer!"

"I don't have one!"

"Last time I come on a rescue mission with you!" Ron threatened.

Harry would have laughed if he didn't need all his breath for running up the stairs at the pace they were going at. He could feel the small army of guards behind him, which spurred him on to greater speeds. And while he ran, he was desperately trying to figure out a way to find Remus.

It was then he decided to abandon all pretence of stealth and trickery and simply shout, "REMUS!"

Ron fumbled as he ran and shot Harry a confused look. "What are you doing?"

Harry ignored him. "_REMUS!_"

"Bloody—Harry, shut _up_!"

"I'm trying to find Remus!" Harry defended himself.

"_That__'__s_ your plan?"

"Anything better in mind?"

"I'm gonna kill you."

"REMUS!"

Up they ran. Harry was glad to notice the guards behind them had fallen back, unable to maintain their speed. It was then Harry heard what he'd been hoping to hear.

"Harry?" came a mild, confused voice from far away.

Harry's eyes went wide. "Remus!" He tried to pick out where the voice was coming from.

"Harry, it's me!" Remus called again.

Harry's determined the voice's direction. It was from below them.

_They __had __to __go __back __down._

He and Ron stopped their run and stared at each other, panting heavily. Ron was glaring murderous daggers at Harry and Harry merely shrugged at him guiltily. "Well, I found Remus."

"Yeah and he's bloody back down there!" Ron shot back, pointing down the stairs where the eight guards had paused as well, breathing unhealthily hard, but still looking completely unbreakable. "I hate you, Harry Potter."

Harry snorted. "On three?"

"On ten," Ron amended. "Let me catch my breath again."

Harry gave him a look but made use of the precious few seconds to recoup his own strength.

"Alright, let's do it," Ron said after their short break. "And if I die, I'm taking you with me."

Harry grinned. Then, together they began their mad descent. Their pace was much faster now, which meant their reached the blockade of guards quicker. Harry and Ron held their swords out in front of them and held their breath as they made contact with the eight burly guards.

"AHHH!" they both yelled as the two sides clashed.

Swords went haywire, the sound was loud and Harry felt the tips of several swords puncture him in various places. He stung all over, but their speed saved them.

Harry wasn't sure how, but somehow they ended up on the _other_ side of the guards, free and still running.

Ron led out a loud _whoop_ of excitement at their momentary victory, leaving behind eight stunned guards.

Harry would have loved to join in the celebration but used his breath to call out, "REMUS, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Here!"

They were getting closer. Remus' voice kept directing them to their location. Back down they ran, hearing the guards reform and start running once more, hot on their trail.

"Harry, we're not going to have time!" Ron warned.

Harry clenched his teeth and ran on. "Remus?"

"Harry!"

Harry slowed down and began to look in each of the cells. Remus should be right here.

Then—

"Remus!" he gasped in relief, looking upon the face of his mentor through the metal bars of his cell.

"Harry! Ron! What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you," Harry answered, unable to stop smiling.

Ron butt in. "Sorry to break the reunion, but there are eight hungry guards on our heels and they want very much to stick their swords into our guts, so can we _do __something_?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and saw them coming, looming like a pack of territorial bears. He swore under his breath and looked around for something, anything that would be able to help them unlock the cell.

"Harry…" Ron said in fearful warning.

"Shut up, Ron," he shot, trying to think.

"_Harry_…"

"Shut _up_." Harry was beginning to sweat. The guards were less than twenty metres away and they were descending fast. Thank goodness they weren't armed with arrows or they'd be punctured like pin cushions by now.

"They're almost here!" Ron warned.

"I _know_, alright?" Harry grabbed onto Remus' padlock and shook it to no avail. He didn't know what he was thinking. He couldn't very well rip it off its hinge.

"_Do __something!_" Ron shouted.

"I'm TRYING!" Harry yelled hotly.

In that second, the padlock in Harry's hand broke cleanly in two. He and Ron stared at it in absolute shock for a moment, rendered wordless.

Remus gasped. "How did you …?"

Harry's brain caught up with him again. He assumed it had something to do with magic but decided now wasn't the time to mention it. "Never mind." He pulled the metal door open. "Get out!"

Remus paused and opened his mouth to say something.

"_Remus_! Get out!"

"Free the man in the cell next to mine," Remus blurted suddenly, looking panicked.

"_What_?"

"Just do it and I'll explain later!"

"Harry! The guards!"

Harry spun. They were almost upon them!

Without thinking, Harry stepped forward in front of Ron and Remus and raised his arms before him, palms open. Ron and Remus watched him, gobsmacked. Harry had no idea what he was doing but he hoped that whatever magic he had in him would work now.

"Stop!" he ordered, half wanting to hit himself for how stupid he sounded.

To his horror, the guards didn't stop.

Ron yelled in desperation, "Harry, what the hell are you doing?"

"_Stop!_" Harry tried again.

Nothing. They were still coming. Less than five metres.

"_Harry!_" Ron cried.

Harry glared at the guards in white-hot fury and felt a flush of energy through him. It was almost like he was willing the magic to come alive. He took a breath and roared, "STOP!"

And just like that, the eight enormous men froze in mid-run, their swords mere inches from Harry's chest.

Ron let out an unmanly squeak of shock, while Remus' eyes seemed to be permanently expanded. Harry exhaled deeply, feeling weak from the panic, but also on the verge of laughing from their sheer dumb luck.

"How did you—I don't—can't—not real …" Ron said when words returned to him.

Harry smiled tiredly. "It's fine, Ron," tried to calm.

"Wha … _no!_ No it isn't! Harry, you just—just—stopped them! How is that even _possible_?"

"When we get back, you can ask Dumbledore."

"Will they start moving again?" Ron asked.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't know. But we better be gone soon, just in case."

Ron nodded in fervent agreement. "Let's go."

Remus finally snapped out of his shock. "Wait. Harry, could you please free the man in there?" he asked, pointing to the cell on his left.

"Why? Who is it?"

Remus suddenly adopted a guilty look. "I'll explain everything later. It would mean a lot to me."

Harry was a little concerned about freeing a condemned Azkaban prisoner, but he knew he couldn't deny his mentor, not after being separated from him for so long. "Yeah, of course."

He went over to the adjacent cell and looked inside. The prisoner was shrouded in darkness. He couldn't make out any facial features. Remus stepped up behind him and looked inside as well.

"This …" Remus began with a heavy voice. It sounded like it was full of emotion. "This is Harry. He's going to get us out," he told the prisoner.

Harry grabbed onto the rusty padlock and tried to recapture the same magical energy from before. It took longer this time but eventually, the lock broke in two and the pieces allowed for the cell door to swing open.

As soon as the doors were open, Remus rushed in past Harry and, to Harry's complete surprise, embraced the prisoner. Harry and Ron looked at each other, both of them surprised and a little embarrassed, especially when the unnamed prisoner spoke Remus' name with all the emotion of a long-lost lover.

That's when it hit Harry.

_Sirius __Black._

That must be him.

He felt his face go hot and he looked away, encouraging Ron to do the same, giving them a moment.

He heard Remus pull away from the prisoner. "We have to go. There's not much time," he told him.

As they exited the cell, Harry got a brief look at the prisoner who he thought was Remus' lover from twenty years ago. It felt surreal to think of Remus' life before him, and even more bizarre to know his mentor had once been in love.

"Lead the way, Harry," Remus urged. "I promise to explain it all later."

Harry decided not to tell him that he already knew some of it right then and hastened to obey. He led their small party of four the rest of the way down the winding staircase and outside to there their boat bobbed in the uneasy black water.

It was slow going back to the coast, especially when there was so much emotion among them but not enough words to know where to begin expressing them, but eventually they felt the boat hit the mainland shore.

The sun had disappeared a few hours ago; the sky was black. The decision was made to set up a camp and begin their travel back home in the morning. Harry and Ron looked at each other surreptitiously and made themselves scarce looking for firewood, leaving Remus and the prisoner alone. Harry knew that if the situation was different and it had been him and Draco, he would want to be left alone.

-mp-

The fire was large by the time Remus and the man Harry assumed was Sirius Black returned. Harry was turning strips of the meat Ron had hunted before over it, cooking their meal, when he looked up and made eye contact with Remus.

Harry saw, for the first time in his life, Remus looking completely happy. It wasn't the outright merriment of someone enjoying banter with friends over a drink or two, but rather the deep, contented joy of someone who was made whole once more. Harry felt emotion well inside him.

"Remus," he said gently, also happy to be reunited with him.

"Thank you, Harry. And Ron," Remus said, sounding like the most honest man in the world. "Thank you. You have no idea how much all of this means to me."

Harry didn't really know what to say, so he remained silent and waited for Remus to continue.

Remus sat down beside Harry and Ron, pensive yet content. "I …" He took a breath and pondered how to continue. He looked hesitant yet determined to speak. "In all your lives, I never told you about my past. But you should know that there are things I've kept hidden for the past twenty years and it's only now that they've resurfaced." He paused and stroked his beard. "I was in love … a long time ago…" He stopped again and seemed to think hard on how to say it.

Harry decided to interrupt gently. "I know, Remus."

Ron gave him a curious look and Remus looked shocked.

"You know?" his mentor echoed.

"The Professor told me," Harry supplied, feeling a little guilty for knowing.

Remus seemed to digest this information slowly. "I'm sorry I never told you Harry."

"Told him what?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"It's okay, Remus," Harry said, ignoring Ron for the moment. "I know how hard it must have been so I know why you wouldn't want to speak about it."

Remus gave him a small smile.

"What's going on?" Ron inquired.

"Ron, I'd like you to meet Sirius Black," Remus announced, motioning to the darkness behind him, from which the man emerged.

Sirius Black looked tired, hungry and, if Harry was completely honest, half-dead. But his eyes were lively and kind and Harry could almost imagine what he must have looked like twenty years ago to have Remus fall in love with him.

Sirius' gaze landed on Harry and rested there for a long time, as if trying to memorise every little bit about him. Harry felt a little uncomfortable after a while.

"So … Sirius Black …" Ron said, lightening the sudden tension. "How do you know Remus exactly?"

Harry felt like snorting and hitting Ron across the head for not piecing the bits together.

Remus smiled. "He was my …" he said, fumbling over his words. "He's the one I was in love with."

Ron looked like he'd just been told his mother was pregnant again. "I beg your pardon?"

"And he's also Harry's godfather," Remus added.

Now it was Harry's turn to drop his jaw. "What?"

Sirius let out a snort and Remus appeared to have developed a blush on his cheeks.

"I can't believe this," Ron muttered.

"Neither can I," Harry said.

"But you said you knew!" Ron countered.

"Not that he was my godfather!" Harry's head whipped to Sirius. "So … you knew my father, too?"

"Very well," Sirius answered, speaking for the first time since they had met. "We were best friends. We grew up together."

Harry squinted. "Wait; does that mean you grew up in Slytherin?"

Both Remus and Sirius looked shocked. "You know?" they said simultaneously.

Harry nodded.

"Let me guess," Remus said, "Dumbledore told you."

"Sort of. I had most of it figured out when I was in Slytherin. But when I returned, the Professor filled in the blanks for me; told me I was the heir of Gryffindor and everything."

Sirius' eyebrows shot up and Remus blew out a deep breath. "I just found out too," Remus said, "Sirius told me when we were locked up."

"You didn't know?" Harry asked.

"I knew about your father being from Slytherin, but I didn't know about you being the descendant of Gryffindor."

Ron squinted, as if trying hard to keep up with the conversation.

"So why didn't you ever tell me?" Harry asked.

"I was sworn not to," Remus replied, sounding entirely honest. "I wanted to, but I had made promises to never tell you."

"And James made me promise never to tell Remus," Sirius added. He made a snort-like noise. "Guess I broke it. Sorry James."

"Why would he make you keep it a secret?"

"Because James hated being Riddle's puppet and decided not to do what Riddle wanted him to do." Sirius paused and looked at Harry quizzically. "You know about Riddle, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"I don't!" Remus butted in.

Ron looked at Remus strangely. "Even _I_ know who Riddle is."

Remus looked put out. "Can someone please explain?"

"He's the one who killed my parents," Harry supplied, "but gave me this." He pulled up his hair to expose his forehead. "He's marked me so that my destiny is tied with his. I'm supposed to defeat him with something called the Red Sword."

A look of recognition crossed Sirius' face. "Merlin, I remember that. The Red Sword. Riddle had told James about it back when we were still in Slytherin. But I had forgotten."

"Wait. This Riddle person killed James and Lily?" Remus asked to clarify. Harry nodded. "So why were you incriminated?" He looked at Sirius.

"Like I said, I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I went into Godric's Hollows moments after Riddle had left. Everyone just assumed I did it."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. "People thought you killed my parents?"

"That's why I was sent to Azkaban."

Harry remembered Dumbledore telling him Remus' lover was imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. That must have been it. The crime was the murder of his parents. Harry cast a look at Remus and saw his eyes misted over with tears.

"They found me holding a dagger over your crib," Sirius explained, "and your mother's body was dead on the ground before me. I looked like a murderer."

"Blimey, Harry," Ron murmured, "Trying to work out your past is like trying to understand a woman's mind. Impossible."

Harry gave a small smile. "I think it's time we rest. We've gone through enough today and we've got a long journey back north ahead of us tomorrow."

"Hufflepuff's not that far," Remus reasoned.

"We're not going to Hufflepuff. We're going to …" Harry made a face and tried to think of what it was they were at their encampment up north "… Gryffindor," he finished.

"Gryffindor?" Sirius echoed. "It exists?"

"We're creating it," Ron explained. "From scratch. Harry's our leader."

Sirius looked at him with something that seemed a lot like pride.

"Alright, alright," Harry said, not liking the attention on his best of days. "Time to sleep."

And sleep they did.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Being away from Draco is slowly killing Harry, so when he receives news that rocks his world, it's the last straw. _


	37. The Last Straw

Chapter 36

**The Last Straw**

Sirius stared at his reflection in the small rippling pool of water with muted shock. It had been twenty years since he had seen his own face. He could hardly recognise it. Thick, black, mangy hair flowed from both the top of his head and his chin, covering the majority of his face, while the visible skin was tainted brown from years of not washing.

In all honesty, Sirius knew he probably smelled as good as a pile of horse dung.

Running a hand through his thick beard, he sighed with memories of his past life.

"Here."

He turned and saw Remus extending a small razor blade and a pair of scissors to him with a smirk on his face.

"Trying to tell me something?" Sirius said in amusement, looking into his face with joy and relief. It was still almost like a dream to have Remus with him and happy again.

Remus chuckled. "You're far too hairy for my liking."

Sirius smiled and took the utensils. "What's wrong with a bit of facial hair?"

"A bit?" Remus echoed incredulously. "That beard of yours is as thick as a dog's fur. I can't even see your mouth!"

Sirius laughed. It felt good to. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed.

It appeared Remus was thinking the same thing. "I miss your laugh," he said with a look on his face that depicted pure contentment.

Sirius took Remus' hand gently. "I miss you."

He saw Remus flush as they locked their gazes together for a long, quiet moment. There was so much to be said, Sirius knew, but neither of them knew where to begin.

"We'll have a lot of explaining to do when we get back," Remus said softly.

"I'm glad Harry took it well," Sirius remarked, thinking of his godson, who was probably off somewhere with Ron. It amazed Sirius how much he'd grown. Logically, it made sense of course. Twenty years was enough time to change anyone. But to Sirius, Harry was still the one-year-old baby. "I want to get to know him."

"You will." Remus began brushing his thumb along Sirius' calloused palm. "I'm sure he wants to know you too."

"You were right … He looks like James."

"Doesn't he?" Remus mused. "Sometimes I forget it's Harry I'm talking to and not his father."

"James would be proud of him." A melancholy mood took over Sirius, remembering the night he had walked into Godric's Hollow and seen his best friend murdered on the carpet. After being accused of James' and Lily's murders for twenty years, it was hard not to let guilt take over him.

Remus smiled sadly and lifted Sirius chin so their eyes locked. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Sirius Black. You are innocent." Suddenly, Remus' eyes welled with tears. "I … I still can't believe I thought … you had killed them."

Sirius shuffled closer and grasped Remus' hands. "No …" he whispered. "I told you; that's in the past. You couldn't help but see the evidence—"

"But it was _you_! I should have trusted you. I knew you better than anyone else and I still thought you were the murderer." Tears dropped from Remus' eyes and he gritted his teeth in anger and sorrow.

"Remus, no … Don't cry, please. It's over now, I forgive you. Don't cry, love, please."

Remus stiffened and his breath caught, as if shocked by something. He stared at his lap for a long while. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Say that again," he whispered. A tear drop slithered across Remus' lips but he made no move to lick or wipe it away.

Sirius paused, unsure what Remus was referring to. "Say what?" he asked gently.

"What you called me."

Then Sirius realised. He hadn't even noticed he had said it. It had seemed so natural to call Remus 'love'. He hadn't realised it would have such an effect on the man. "I called you _love_," he said, something deep inside him infinitely happy. A few more tears escaped down Remus' face. This time, Sirius lifted his hands and wiped them away.

Remus held onto Sirius' hands that were cupping his face, his eyes wet and his face pink. But Sirius had never thought anyone could look so beautiful. "I love you too," Remus breathed. "I never want you to leave. Stay with me."

"Always, I promise." One second away from Remus would be one second too much. He had the love of his life back and he wasn't going to let him go. "Now," he said, wiping another tear away, "No more crying. This is a happy day."

Remus have him a watery smile which sent Sirius' heart pounding. He nodded and looked a little embarrassed. "You're right," he agreed and took a deep breath. Then his face lifted and his eyes sparkled. "Besides, you've still got a whole lot of facial hair that needs to go."

Sirius chuckled. "So it really can't stay?"

"How am I supposed to kiss you like that?"

Sirius eyes lit up and his heart flipped. Then, he cheekily leaned over, as if to kiss Remus and prove the point that he could.

But Remus placed a hand over Sirius' mouth with an amused look on his face. "Uh-uh-uh. Hair goes first."

Sirius deflated but leant back again. "Fine." Then he gave Remus back the scissors and the razor. "But you do it. After twenty years, I'll probably end up with a hundred tiny cuts."

Remus laughed but agreed to the task.

An amount of time that Sirius thought was _far __too __long_ later, he ran a hand over his smooth jaw and then through his shorter hair. He had to admit, it felt much better; less like a starving, corpse-like prisoner, and more like his old self.

He turned to Remus, who was leaning forward, washing the tools in the water when a mischievous gleam appeared in his eye. Sirius pulled the man back, somewhat forcefully.

"Whoa—" Remus began in a yelp as his balance was upended.

But he wasn't allowed to say anything else.

Sirius was kissing him.

While Remus paused in shock at the first contact, Sirius pressed forward, almost groaning aloud at the sensation.

Twenty years hadn't been enough to forget what Remus tasted like, but it had certainly been too long to be deprived of it. Memories of their past overwhelmed Sirius, making his heart swell with love and relief and joy; emotions he never thought he'd have again. The feel of Remus' lips and the small breaths he made against Sirius' face were heaven for him.

After a moment, when Remus had recovered enough to kiss back with just as much emotion, Sirius grasped onto the back of Remus' neck and held him close, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss.

After a few more moments, Remus pulled away, breathing a little heavier and flushed all over.

"We should slow down … we're not seventeen anymore."

"So?" Sirius asked, half mad with the sight of Remus's mouth looking kissed and swollen.

Remus smiled down into Sirius' face. "We've also got your godson and his best friend somewhere close-by."

"Let them see," Sirius said carelessly. "I'm sure they know what kissing looks like."

"Yes, but perhaps not two men kissing," Remus pointed out wisely.

Sirius looked put out and let his hands drop from Remus' sides. Remus had always been the smarter of the two, while Sirius was the impulsive pleasure-seeker. It had worked for them. Remus had always been the one to rein Sirius in when he needed to be grounded, and Sirius had been the one to ensure Remus had fun when he needed it. "You're right. You're always bloody right."

Remus smiled and bent back down for a quick kiss that caught Sirius off-guard. "Of course I am," he remarked with a mischievous wink.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius could only smile.

-mp-

The journey back to Gryffindor took all of the next day, and half the following one, particularly because Remus and Sirius were in no rush. They were content to simply be in each other's company once more.

This, of course, only played with Harry's nerves and emotions and not even Ron's presence could distract him from the fact that he missed Draco terribly and wished with all his heart that he could have what Remus was having right now. The look on Remus' face told Harry all that he needed to know about how he was feeling, and it caused jealousy to stir within him like an angry beast.

"Home sweet home," he heard Ron murmur tiredly some time later, swaying wearily with his horse's trots.

How Gryffindor had become _home_, Harry wasn't sure. But even he had to admit that he felt a fierce loyalty towards what was slowly becoming his kingdom.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said.

"For what?"

"For coming on this rescue mission with me. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron muttered. But Harry could tell from his voice that he was smiling proudly. It made Harry smirk too.

It was almost midday when the guards posted on the make-shift palisade walls they had built a few weeks ago saw them and welcomed them back inside.

Harry thanked them and led his small entourage inside. They headed for the stables and armoury to offload hastily, so as not to alert anyone of their arrival just yet. Harry knew questions would erupt if anyone noticed either Remus or Sirius and he wanted to speak to the Professor first.

"Stay here," he advised the two older men.

They nodded and Harry left Ron to guard the door to the armoury lest anyone should walk in.

Harry quickly made his way to the centre of their camp, where he knew Dumbledore liked to spend his time.

The old man was there, listening in on a nearby conversation, when saw Harry approach. He immediately stood up and gave an amused shake of his head in Harry's direction. "You always found it difficult to sit still," he criticised kindly.

Harry smiled. "I'm sorry I left without saying anything but I had to do something."

"And did you?"

"Come see for yourself," Harry invited, jerking his head in the direction of where he had left the newcomers.

The Professor looked intrigued. "Should I be worried?"

Harry laughed. "Just come on."

He led him to the stables, eager to see the Professor's face when he saw what surprise was waiting for him.

On their way, he heard Ginny call his name.

"Harry?"

He turned and saw her with Hermione. The two of them were looking at him in surprise, as if wondering when he'd arrived. He, at least, looked a little sheepish. "Sorry."

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked.

"Er …" Harry ran a hand through his hair and he cast a quick look at Dumbledore, who looked half-amused, half-curious. "I'll tell you later."

"Where are you going?"

"You can come with me if you like. That way I don't have to explain it a dozen times," Harry reasoned.

The women joined them. Ginny looked at Harry, slightly anguished. "Harry, wait, there's something I need to tell you—"

"Not now, Gin. Later, okay? There's things I need to do first."

If anything, she looked even more distressed, but Harry didn't have the time to placate her. He could tend to her later.

They reached the armoury quickly and Ron, who was still standing where Harry left him, let them inside.

Harry wasn't sure the kinds of reaction to expect from Dumbledore, Remus or Sirius, but he had hoped it would be some form of joy or relief.

What he saw were brief looks of recognition, followed by three blank faces.

Harry frowned and looked at them in shock. Surely, they would be happy to see each other again! "They're back, Professor," Harry pointed out needlessly, gesturing in Remus' and Sirius' direction.

The Professor gave a short smile and Harry could see in his eyes the smallest hint of relief at having them returned safely. "I can see that, Harry. It is good to see them here again."

Harry's frown deepened. He turned to Remus. "Why aren't …? I thought—"

"It's alright, Harry," Remus said kindly. "There are some things … you're not aware of."

"What things?" Harry looked around, confused. Seeing Ron's equally stumped face made him a little better. "I thought it was all out in the open."

"Not quite," Sirius spoke up. He turned to the Professor. "Hello, Albus. It's been a long time."

"It has," the old man agreed.

A look of irritation crossed Sirius' face and Harry could sense he was about to say something. Remus quickly grabbed Sirius' arm and calmed him enough to keep him quiet.

"Albus," Remus spoke up this time. "You knew about Sirius, didn't you? All these years?"

"That he was innocent? Yes."

Remus looked hurt. "You didn't think to tell me? You would have me believe that my own—" he bit back his word "—that Sirius was a murderer?"

"You didn't believe Sirius when he told you, why would you believe me?" the Professor asked.

"That's not an excuse. You could have told me, convinced me. Why didn't you?"

The Professor closed his eyes and sighed deeply. To Harry's eyes, Dumbledore suddenly looked a hundred years older; frail and weak. "Remus, Sirius; I can only ask for your forgiveness. I did what I thought was right. Partially to protect you, Remus, for I did not think Sirius would ever escape Azkaban to continue the life the two of you began. And partially because … there is a much greater truth that was hidden up until very recently; the truth behind Tom Riddle."

Harry heard Sirius growl in anger at the name.

The Professor went on. "I knew Riddle was the murderer. I knew you were innocent. But I thought if I didn't tell people that Riddle committed the crime, I could let the memory of him to die and his legacy too." He sighed once more. "I was wrong, of course. That man is so intent on evil he was never going to stop. But by the time I realised this, more than a decade had passed. By then I simply thought to let the past remain in the past." Dumbledore gave the two men a tired smile. "I truly am sorry, I admit my mistake. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me."

Harry felt a little confused, but he chose not to ask about it. He decided that whatever their problem was, he wouldn't get involved. He himself had too much to deal with already. He had learnt so much about the past in such a short time, Harry almost felt like he was living in it. It was difficult to believe that all this had happened while he was still a baby.

Remus cleared his throat. Harry looked up to see his eyes wet. "It will take time," Remus said softly. "Twenty years is a long time to account for."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"But … I, too, hope we can pass this, Albus."

Sirius remained quiet and Harry could sense he was either too stubborn to contemplate an apology, or still too upset to speak.

Silence settled over the stables, then. Harry felt responsible for it. He felt the uneasy feeling of awkwardness creep upon him.

Eventually, he piped up with, "Well, after that somewhat damp beginning, I do believe some introductions are necessary."

Within minutes, Hermione and Ginny had made Sirius' acquaintance, but Harry knew it wasn't his place to explain to the girls the nature of Sirius' and Remus' relationship, so he kept that secret. If Remus wanted to say it, he would.

After the introduction, Harry foresaw a new problem. "We need to figure out a way to spread the word that Sirius has returned. I fear if we don't explain to the people what's going on, they're all going to want to kill him."

"How do we do that, mate?" Ron inquired.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Not sure." He glanced at Dumbledore. "Hopefully the Professor's got some ideas, because I'm completely exhausted. I didn't sleep properly last night and we've been on the run ever since yesterday morning."

Hermione looked reproachful. "You really shouldn't have run off like that, you know. So many people were worried."

"Including me," Ginny piped in. "I wanted to tell you—"

"If I had said anything, no one would have let me go," Harry interrupted.

"True," Hermione conceded. "But think of all these people who are relying on you to _stay__alive_. You're leading an enormous cause. You are so many people's hope. What would have happened if you died?"

Although Harry dearly felt like rolling his eyes, he knew he shouldn't. She was right. "I know, Hermione. But I had to. Besides, we didn't die," he said, with a small smile on his face.

Ron coughed. "Although I did come _very_ close to death," he added solemnly. "At one stage I was fighting twenty Azkaban guards simultaneously. If I wasn't such a brilliant fighter, I might have died."

Harry let out a short laugh while Ginny and Hermione looked at Ron like they didn't believe a word out of his mouth.

"Twenty guards, Ron?" Remus butted in, overhearing their conversation. Harry could tell he was grateful the mood in the room had turned light. "That's funny, I only recall eight. All of which _Harry_ alone dealt with."

Ron went red.

"Give him some credit, Remus," Harry said with a joke-heavy tone, "Ron _was_ the one screaming, '_Harry!__Harry!__Do__something!_' Really, if it weren't for him, I never would have done anything and we'd still be in there."

Ron glared at him murderously while the rest of the group chuckled in laughter. Hermione was looking at Ron with deep affection, as he blushed pink.

After a moment in which a few more jokes were thrown Ron's way, he felt Ginny tug his arm from behind. He turned and saw she wasn't laughing like the others. Instead she looked concerned.

"Harry, please, can I speak to you?"

"Sure."

"No. Alone."

Harry frowned. "Not now, Ginny. We need to figure out the situation with Sirius before we do anything else."

She looked torn. "I know, but there's something you should know."

"Tell me later, ok?"

"But Harry—"

Harry turned back to the group. "Alright, anyone have any ideas on how we can convince the world that Sirius is innocent?"

In the end, it took the entire afternoon, the combined efforts of them all to gather most of the people together in the town centre, and a few well-delivered speeches from Harry, Remus and the Professor, to thaw the peoples' hearts towards Sirius. Some of the citizens didn't even know about him, but those that did still weren't ready to accept the truth yet—not after twenty years. But at least no one would be openly hostile to him, which was a start.

Much later in the day, Harry was sitting around a campfire with close friends, listening to Remus and Sirius share stories of the past, and laughing along at the memories of his father. No one had ever told him these stories. It was relieving to finally be able to see the kind of man his father really was.

In the middle of Remus' story on his father's many failed attempts to woo his mother, Harry felt someone gently tug his shirt from behind.

It was Ginny again.

"Harry, please, I need to speak with you."

Harry was loathe to miss a second of the story. "Now?"

"Now," she insisted.

He sighed and got up. She hastily led him to their small hut and closed the door behind them.

"Ginny," he began, irritated, "what are you—"

"I'm pregnant."

And suddenly, he forgot everything else. He forgot the part going on outside. He forgot the stories of his father. He forgot Remus and Sirius. Harry felt the world fall out from beneath him. His gut flipped. His blood turned to ice. He stared at her like he didn't know who she was, eyes unblinking and wide.

For a long moment, he didn't even know if he was still awake.

"Harry?"

He couldn't speak. He only looked at her. She looked small and fragile.

His wife.

His _pregnant_ wife.

He knew they had been waiting for it to happen. He shouldn't be surprised. But despite this, Harry suddenly felt sick.

"Say something," she begged, almost frantic.

What was he supposed to say? I'm sorry for doing this to you? I'm sorry for thinking about another man right now? I'm sorry I don't love you?

Harry closed his eyes, torn, conflicted, guilty.

When he opened them again, he saw Ginny had tears in her eyes.

"Are you happy?" he asked, with little emotion in his voice.

She looked hurt. "Yes," she whispered, her eyebrows raised in shocked anger, as if unable to believe Harry would ask her that. She rested one of her hands on her flat stomach. "Yes."

He watched her hand and swallowed. His baby was there. _Their_ baby.

"Aren't you?" she asked, her voice strained, pleading with him.

He wet his lips. "Yes," he answered, only because he knew that's what she wanted to hear.

Was he happy? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. Harry suddenly wanted to leave and run away.

"Who else knows?" he asked.

"Just mother and Hermione."

He nodded distractedly. He looked at her stomach again and tried to see if there were any noticeable changes. He was being stupid, he knew. It was still too early. "How far are you?"

She shrugged. "A bit more than a month?" she guessed, "Based on my last …" she trailed off, but he knew what she meant.

He nodded again, unable to take his eyes off her trunk as if expecting it to suddenly grow abnormally.

To his horror, Ginny began crying. Again, he didn't know what to do. He stood there like a fool, watching his young, pregnant wife cry. Her next words stabbed him.

"This isn't _right_," she sobbed. "You're supposed to be my husband! I'm p-pregnant with _your_ child and you don't even care!"

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop and guilt clenched his heart.

"Every girl can't wait for the day they get to be a mother," she continued, tears flowing, "But _this_ is just … cruel. How could you?"

"Ginny—"

"No, don't say anything." She glared at him with wet, red eyes. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life and you've ruined it."

"I'm sorry," he tried.

She shook her head angrily, weeping in despair. "I know you don't love me, but can't you at least _pretend_?"

Harry looked away. He couldn't watch her. Not when her every word was true and he felt like the lowest human being on earth.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he whispered again. "I … I'm sorry …"

She sat down on their bed and buried head in her hands, sobbing her heart out. "Just go," she begged.

He obeyed, leaving her alone. There was no way he was going to stay.

-mp-

For the second time in three days, Harry stole a horse and left Gryffindor without saying a word to anyone.

He rode like the wind. South. Towards Slytherin.

Towards Draco.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Missed Draco yet? _


	38. Shifting Alliances

Chapter 37

**Shifting Alliances**

Draco's gaze was vague and unfocused, staring at a point in the distance out one of the Throne Room windows. His eyes distractedly noticed the Dark Forest with its ever-present cloud of grey hovering over it, and dimly wondered when the sun would finally decide to shine there.

"Focus, Draco," the King hissed to him without looking up from the parchment he was reading. The feathered quill in his hand made tiny motions as the King's hand signed the paper elegantly.

"On what, Father?" Draco said irritably, his jaw clenched. "The laws and regulations on our trading with Beauxbatons? Or the complaints about the rising taxes you keep ordering?" Draco glanced down at his own browned parchment—the one he was supposed to be reviewing. "All this political nonsense—"

"—will one day become _your_ responsibility," the King snapped, looking up from his work and fixing his son with a look as cold and hard as steel. "Now stop acting like a child and read the document."

Draco returned the look and stubbornly refused to look down at the table before him. Instead, his eyes shifted to the enormous hall they were in, pocketed by windows and doors with guards at every entrance. As Draco looked around him, a familiar sadness, one that had been plaguing him for months, crept onto him like black tentacles clutching his heart. It was in this room he last saw Harry. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, and still the ache clung to him like incessant leeches.

He missed Harry something awful and wished he could just wipe his mind of any memory of him. It wouldn't happen—not when every waking moment was spent remembering their time together and hoping they would be reunited again.

"_Draco_."

"What?" he replied angrily, knowing it was wrong of him to speak like so.

The glare he received in response was only to be expected, as Draco had been subject to them every day since Harry had left that seeing it again was like greeting a familiar acquaintance.

"I will not have you answering back or behaving in such an uncouth manner. If you insist on acting like a spoilt, petulant child—"

The doors to the Throne Room were suddenly opened and a handful of Slytherin soldiers arched in, dragging with them a very petrified looking peasant who looked about Draco's age. H

The King looked enraged. "What is the meaning of this?" he ordered.

The Slytherin soldiers bowed and forced the trembling civilian to as well. "My Lord," one of them responded, "This peasant is from the furthest outlying towns, near the border of the Nullius." The soldier shot a distasteful look at the man. "He claimed he has some information that you might find useful."

"What information?" The King glared menacingly down at the fearful man and Draco felt a little sorry for him. He wouldn't be surprised if the man wet his pants right then.

The villager swallowed and looked upon the King and his son with terrified eyes. "Your Majesties," he began respectfully, "A few weeks ago, while I was out hunting, I stumbled upon a watch tower I had never seen before. It was newly built, for sure, and I saw a small group of men in it. I overheard them talking about an army, my Lord."

This caught the King's attention. "An army?" he repeated.

"Yes, sire. He did not say whose, but he did say that an army from the north was being creating for a great battle."

"From the north?"

"Aye," the hunter nodded. "I heard them talking about their leader, too. They spoke of him like he was some godsend. They said he would finally restore peace in the land."

"And you heard no name?"

"No, sire." The villager twiddled with his hands, as if realising the feebleness of his so-called useful information. Draco was sure his father had no patience for this; he certainly didn't. "But … just recently," the peasant continued, "I was out riding west and I came upon another group of men."

Draco felt like rolling his eyes. For certain, this man sounded like he was creating plots on the spot; he probably only wanted compensation for his efforts.

"And what of it?" the King asked.

"They must have been a hunting party. Just a small group of four men, setting up a camp. I tried to get in close to hear but I only heart a bit of what they were saying."

There was a pause. The King growled. "Yes?" he snapped hotly.

The man jumped a little. "Uh … they, too, talked about a land in the north. And they mentioned a name. Gryffindor, I think."

Draco looked at his father to see what he thought of this, expecting him to be rolling his eyes and holding his temples in impatience. He was surprised to find a curious look on his face, as if he was indeed eager to know more. But he said nothing; he simply sat and stared at the peasant with a frozen gaze that was half-curiosity and half-familiarity, almost as if he had an inkling of what Gryffindor could possibly mean. Draco watched him cautiously, wondering what was going on in his father's mind.

When a moment passed in silence, Draco prompted, "Father?"

The King blinked, as if snapping back into the present. "Do you have any other information for me?"

The peasant seemed to ponder for a moment. "One of them, a red-headed male, was called Ron," he supplied with a casual shrug, as if that was the last bit of information he could provide.

Strangely, it was this last sentence that made Draco sit up, alert.

_Ron_.

Where had he heard that name before? Who had that name? He began wracking his brain, for he knew he had come upon this name recently.

"You will be paid for your effort," the King's voice cut into his thoughts. "Leave now."

The peasant bowed and turned to leave. Draco watched him walk towards the door, frantically thinking about the name Ron.

Just as the villager slipped out the door and closed it behind him, Draco remembered.

Harry had said it once. _"__My __best __friend__'__s __name __is __Ron. __Ron __Weasley.__"_

Draco stood up.

His father looked at him in alarm. "Sit down, Draco."

But Draco didn't listen. In one swift motion, he ran to the Throne Room door.

"Draco!" his father's call followed him before Draco ran out and followed the path of the peasant.

He saw the man at the end of the corridor. "You there!" he called out.

The villager turned in surprise, entirely shocked at discovering the Prince of Slytherin had not only followed him, but was talking to him.

"Uh … yes, Your Highness?"

Draco ran up to him. "You said there was a man named Ron, yes?"

The prisoner stared at him in bewilderment. "Yes," he confirmed.

"What about the others?"

"I didn't find out the names of the others, my lord," the man replied meekly.

Draco could have rolled his eyes in impatience. "Can you describe them?"

The man began fiddling with his hands in nervousness again. "I … I'm not sure."

"Try, dammit!" Draco knew he was acting rather theatrically, but he was desperate. This was the first piece of news he had heard in the last few months that could be remotely related to Harry and Draco was willing to cling to it tightly. He didn't even know if this Ron was Harry's best friend. Draco was sure there were hundreds of Rons in the world. But that didn't stop him from hoping madly that it was a reference to Harry.

"Uh …" the man began sweating. "I don't … There were four of them."

"Yes, ok. One of them had red hair and was called Ron. The others?"

"Two of the others had black hair."

Black hair. _Harry_.

Draco's heart skipped a beat.

"And of these two, was one of them young? About my own age?"

In the time it took the peasant to think, Draco was ready to strangle him. Eventually, the man nodded. "I'm fairly certain. One of them was much older, but the other could have been your age, sire. I also remember that his hair was actually quite messy. Like a small animal could have lived in there."

The peasant smiled at his own little joke, but Draco wasn't paying attention.

His heart had sped up madly and he felt the urge to let out a loud whoop in excitement. Harry! It had to be him! Who else had hair like that? Draco was suddenly insanely glad that Harry never bothered to fix his chaotic hair. He was also relieved to the point of weakness that Harry was still alive.

"My Lord?"

"Leave me," Draco blurted, his voice edged with frantic exhilaration. "I need to …" he didn't finish his thought. He was already running to Pansy's house.

-mp-

"What?" was Pansy's first question after Draco burst into her chamber like a whirlwind.

"He's alive, and his hair is still as messy as ever!" Draco proclaimed, collapsing on her couch, with a large smile on his face.

Pansy stared at him. "I assume you're talking about Harry."

"Of course I'm talking about Harry!" Draco replied impatiently. "Who else would I be talking about?"

Pansy smiled. "You're right. Since you finally admitted your feelings for him to me, you hardly talk about anyone else."

Draco let out a deep breath. "It's just … I haven't heard head nor tail of him in so long, it's like … it's like taking a deep breath after being underwater for so long."

"What happened to trying to forget his existence?" Pansy asked with a wry smile.

Draco frowned at her. "Shut up, Pansy," he muttered, now a little embarrassed of the enthusiasm with which he arrived. She must think he was some sort of lovesick fool. Draco paused. One might argue that was exactly what he was.

She laughed delicately. "I'm only teasing." She sat down on the couch beside him, looking eagerly at her friend. "So how did you come by this information?"

"A peasant, believe it or not. Some stupid villager, who probably wouldn't know cotton from silk, came to me and Father and told us of a few conversations he had overheard. Anyway, one of the men he eavesdropped on was Harry." Draco could feel his heart rate speed up again, just by the idea that Harry was close enough for a Slytherin citizen to cross paths with him.

"How do you know?"

"He said he had messy, black hair, and that he had a man named Ron with him."

"Ron?"

"Harry once told me his best friend's name was Ron," Draco explained, waving his hand around impatiently as if brushing off the minor detail. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is that he's …" he trailed of. He didn't know what the point was.

"The point is that any mention of Harry suddenly has you ready to shout from excitement?" Pansy provided.

Draco glared at her, but couldn't maintain it. She was right, of course.

But then, Draco dropped his shoulders as his enthusiasm seeped out of him. He remembered the vow he had made to himself when Harry had left Slytherin: that he would try and forget he ever existed. It was the only way to move on with his life and responsibilities. He couldn't spend the rest of his life pining after someone who was forbidden to him. He had duties to fulfil, never mind the absolute exhilaration he had felt when Harry was still in his life.

Now, with a mere _mention_ of Harry, all those feelings came rushing back to him.

"What am I doing, Pansy?" he asked dejectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to forget about him," he said. "Clearly, nothing can ever happen, and I promised myself I would wipe him from my life and memories." He snorted. "Well done, Draco," he murmured sarcastically to himself.

"Draco, you can't just erase your memories of him," she replied firmly. "He means a lot to you. You can't expect yourself to forget him."

"But I'm supposed to. I mean, not only is he a … man—" (Draco flushed a little) "—but my father wants him dead _and_ I've had my marriage prepared for me since I was born!"

A look of anger flashed across Pansy's eyes. "Ooh, I could strangle that girl Astoria with my bare hands."

"You and me both," Draco replied miserably.

Pansy looked at him sympathetically. "Perhaps when you're king, you can change the laws and marry whoever—?"

"No, Pansy," Draco interrupted, looking down at his lap. "Harry … is a _man_." He laughed darkly at the impossibility.

"Yes, you keep saying that."

Draco sighed and spent a moment in silence with his thoughts. "You know I never ask you for anything," he prefaced, turning to face his friend.

She looked concerned. "What is it?"

"But I'm asking you this …"

"Anything."

"Help me forget Harry," Draco requested, looking into her brown eyes and trying to make her understand his determination.

"Draco …"

"Please. Don't ever mention him. I need to move on with my life."

She opened her mouth to object, but the look of Draco's face was resolute. Eventually, she nodded. But she also added softly, "You'll regret this, you know."

Draco released a long breath and felt his heart crumble. "I already am."

-mp-

Draco was in the Throne Room with his father once again when the second piece of news regarding Harry reached him. A single day had passed since and Draco was happy to note that he had only thought of Harry about a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours—a vast improvement to the constant barrage of memories of him he had experienced in the past couple of months. Perhaps, by the end of the week, he would have forgotten all about Harry.

"Your Majesties," came the deep voice of one of the King's trusted Battle Masters, who was kneeling before the King and Prince, dressed in his Slytherin green armour.

"What is it, Flint?"

"More news from the north."

Draco felt his heart tremor a little, but otherwise made no motion or sound. He told himself he didn't care one ounce what Flint had to say. He claimed he had news about the north. So what? It was probably something about hunting poachers in the Nullius, anyway. Hardly interesting.

Flint continued his report, "I sent scouts to ensure whether what we knew was true. It seems the peasant was not lying at all. There is, indeed, a great power and army amassing. My scouts tell me their numbers are growing daily, and that they pledge their loyalties to the name Gryffindor."

_So __much __for __poachers_, Draco thought grimly. He couldn't stop his heart rate begin to rise and his stomach fluttering, even while he berated himself for his intrigue.

Draco glanced at his father and saw that same look of absolutely stillness cross his face, as it had yesterday when the 'Gryffindor' had been spoken. His eyes were glued and almost trance-like. Draco saw him nod almost imperceptibly as if coming to understand something. Draco didn't know what; no one was talking.

"This Gryffindor … is it the name of their leader?" his father asked calculatively; in a tone that made Draco think his father already knew the answer.

"I don't think so, my lord. I think it is more of a place than a person," Flint said.

"Then who is their leader? I need a name."

Draco decided he rather wanted to hear this name as well.

Flint nodded. "Aye, I heard a name. But it was not spoken with title or prestige. There was no King preceding it, which makes me doubt whether he is their leader or not."

"What name, Flint?" the King asked with a cold voice.

"Potter. Harry Potter."

Draco couldn't withhold his gasp—the sound was audible in the silence. His heart seemed to pause. A wave of emotions full of fear, surprise, love, relief and a hundred others, washed through his entire body, leaving him feeling weak. He suddenly felt like fainting, like he was starving for oxygen.

He had no idea what Harry's surname was—he had always assumed he had none—so he couldn't be certain this was his Harry. But … still … he knew it. Deep down, he knew Harry Potter was the man he knew. The man who had saved his life countless time. The man who was willing to die for him. The man he had given all of himself to. The man he loved.

Could he really be the leader of this new army?

Suddenly, the King spoke.

"Declare a state of war, Flint," he said, his voice cutting into Draco's thoughts like steel. Draco froze. _War?_ "Let the whole Empire know. This man, Harry Potter, and his new kingdom, is now our primary and most hostile enemy."

Draco's blood ran cold. _What? __Why?_ He felt icy fear coarse through him.

"Withdraw all troops from Durmstrang. Ready our army. Whether he knows it or not, Potter has just waged a war with Slytherin and he is going to wish he never had," the King finished.

Flint bowed and turned to leave.

"Make no mistake, Flint," the King added darkly. "This will be the greatest war of this generation. And Slytherin will triumph."

"Yes, my lord."

The doors shut behind Flint with a dull _boom._

Draco couldn't move; too terrified to speak or act. He didn't understand! War? For what purpose? What had Harry done? His pulse was racing, his palms were sweating, and inside, he was shaking with anger and fear.

"Draco." His father's voice was chilled and lethal, as if he could see into Draco's mind, as if all Draco's secrets were laid bare before him. He had never felt so alone and exposed in his life.

He knew he needed to speak, but he was scared. For the first time in his life, Draco was fearful of his own father. "Yes, my lord?"

The King went back to reviewing the parchment before him, as if nothing was amiss. When he spoke next, his eyes remained lowered on his document, but Draco still felt like he was seeing all. "I hope you are not displeased with my decision."

Draco swallowed and tried to act relaxed. "No, of course not," he lied, desperately hoping his voice was casual and snobbish; the same tone he would always use when he was younger and he looked up to his father like a god; like everything he did was right and just and all who went against him were evil. It dawned on Draco that now, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he was now one of those 'evil' people who opposed his father. How could be loyal to a man who caused every cell inside Draco to tremble with fear, who imposed laws and traditions on him, who openly declared war on the person Draco loved? "You did what you had to do, my lord."

"I'm glad to hear it, Draco." The scratching of the King's quill as it scraped the parchment was eerie in the silent hall. It grained on Draco's ears, slowly eroding what little tolerance Draco had left.

"I'm so pleased to have your full cooperation, son," the King murmured in his chilly voice, a sickly honeyed voice that frayed with Draco's nerves. Draco knew he wasn't 'pleased' at all. In fact, Draco was sure his father knew he was lying through his teeth.

Unable to stand being in the room anymore, Draco stood abruptly. "Excuse me," he blurted before rushing out of the room.

The King didn't stop him leaving; he knew his son was desperate to flee from him.

From the moment Draco left the Throne Room, he knew he had officially—if silently—taken a stance against his father. And they both knew it. His life was now in danger.

-mp-

He spent the rest of the day at Pansy's house, eager to be away from everyone but her. He had ordered his handful of new bodyguards to remain stationed outside, and not interrupt them under any circumstances.

Draco tried to act like everything was normal around Pansy, but in truth, he was now terrified that everyone and everything in the Black Castle had somehow heard of his defiance and was out for his blood. The King had a whole Empire at his command; one word from him and Draco's life would be over.

He didn't return to his chambers until well after the sun had set and the sky had turned as black as his home.

-mp-

Despite all its defences, sneaking into the Black Castle was surprisingly easy.

Dressed all in black, Harry knew he would blend seamlessly into the darkness as he darted from shadow to shadow in the Castle's numerous corridors. He thanked the fates that it was a moonless night so that no light shone through the windows. The only lights were the sporadic torched flames held aloft in wall sconces that were easy to bypass.

It helped, too, that his hair was the shade of pitch, and all he needed to do was lower his head and back into a wall if he heard the footsteps of patrols.

He knew exactly where he was going. He had memorised these routes dozens of times and it was all coming back to him like it was yesterday. It was strange to think it had been months since he was last here.

Silent as a shadow, Harry meandered through the Castle, making his way to Draco's chambers. His heart was pounding madly with anticipation and eagerness. He couldn't wait to see Draco again. But did Draco feel the same? Would he be disappointed to see him again? Angry, perhaps?

In his heart of hearts, Harry simply knew Draco wouldn't have forgotten him. Not after the night they had shared. Harry hadn't imagined it; it was real.

Up ahead was his destination. Suddenly, Harry felt his palms begin to sweat. He noticed there were no guards stationed at Draco's entrance, which meant the Prince wasn't there. Perhaps this was better.

Quietly, he slipped inside Draco's rooms and looked around, smiling inwardly at his memories. A quick look around confirmed the Prince wasn't here. Draco's smell, however, was everywhere, and for some reason, this made it all the more real. Harry paused for a moment to outline his insanity with a smirk on his face.

He had just fled Gryffindor without second thought.

He had just travelled all day and night, without stopping, to Slytherin.

He hadn't slept properly for longer than what was normal.

He was bloody anxious to see Draco again and missed him like mad.

He still loved Draco and would do it all again.

Harry let his smile escape this time as he took a quick turn around the room, stopping for a moment as he stared at his bed. Here, he would wait to give Draco the biggest surprise of his life.

He watched the door, waiting, his heart racing faster than it ever had before.

-mp-

"Stay here," Draco snapped tiredly at his guards outside his chambers. "Do not come in, do not contact me, do not … In fact, unless I say so, assume I don't even know you exist. Yes?"

The four guards looked at Draco stupidly, and Draco could imagine, in that moment, they were just overgrown dogs. He rolled his eyes and felt his temper rise. "Imbeciles, the lot of you," he insulted without care, glaring at them angrily. Again, their faces were blank sheets, as if they didn't notice they were being talked to.

Out of patience, he spun around and walked into his rooms, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it. He let out a deep breath, relieved he was finally alone. Having his quartet of bodyguards around him all day was like a sick reminder of Harry, like someone was playing a cruel joke on him.

He felt like screaming.

When he turned around to face his room, he almost did.

"Hello, Draco."

_Harry_.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: You'll read this …_

_ Draco closed his eyes and breathed out, feeling his emotions stirred by the man's inebriating words. He opened them again and was transfixed by green. "Harry."_

_ It was like that one word was the signal for the world to start moving again. _

_ Harry lunged and slammed his mouth into Draco's. _


	39. We the Princes

_Chapter rating: **NC-17**._

-mp-

Chapter 38

**We, the Princes**

Draco was frozen in body-chilling fear, staring at a man he never thought he'd see again. The man who only visited him in dreams now.

It couldn't be. It made no sense.

He shook his head slowly, eyes wide and pleading. "I'm going mad," he whispered to himself, convinced he was seeing things.

The hallucination spoke. "You're not. I'm here, Draco."

The sound of his voice was like a physical caress, sending a shock down Draco's spine with all the gentleness of a lover.

Draco stared. And remembered.

The man's hair was black and ruffled; the memory of carding his fingers through it flashed through him. His arms were thick and strong; and Draco remembered grasping onto them tightly. His body held the promise of power and strength; and Draco remembered writhing beneath it on white sheets. His green eyes were the things of legends, peering into Draco like a parched man would a pool of water.

"You're not real." Draco almost choked on his own words, feeling his heart speed up until it pounded in his ears.

The man took a step closer, slow, but eager. "I'm right here. I'm real. I've come back."

The hotness that always preceded tears flushed through Draco's weak frame. His voice was thick with emotion. "You can't be …"

Another step closer and Draco felt his will split: half tempted to flee for his life, half tempted to run and embrace an impossible desire.

The man in his room spoke again, "You cannot begin to know how I've ached for this moment. To see you again. To hear your voice. To be with you."

"Stop," Draco pleaded, but even to his own ears it sounded weak. He didn't want the man to stop. He wanted to keep listening to his intoxicating words.

"I can't stop," he confessed, his eyes now alight with intensity. He was unblinking; with a gaze focused entirely on Draco.

"You can't be here." A tear slipped out of Draco's eyes.

The man came closer still, until they were within an arm's reach of each other. "Do you want me to leave?" came the question. They both already knew the answer to it.

Draco bit his lower lip and stared up into green eyes, searching the face that was as familiar as his own. The face he had sworn to forget. The face of the man that meant more to him than anything.

"Draco … do you want me to leave?" His voice was deep.

"No," he whispered, his heart beating erratically.

"Say my name," the man said, his eyes blazing into Draco, almost pleading. "I want to hear it from your lips. Say my name."

Draco closed his eyes and breathed out, feeling his emotions stirred by the man's inebriating words. He opened them again and was transfixed by green. "Harry."

It was like that one word was the signal for the world to start moving again.

Harry lunged and slammed his mouth into Draco's.

Draco's instant response was a deep desire-filled groan before his arms reached to scramble up into Harry's hair, clutching and pulling for all he was worth, holding onto to him like he was a dying man.

"Harry," his hissed in a second-long respite between kisses, just for the chance to say his name again.

Harry groaned into his mouth and pushed Draco back. Draco had no idea what was happening, but he followed Harry's lead until he found himself being pushed up against his wall, the solid muscle of Harry pressing into him. His mouth was harsh and hot and punishing, as it swept all around and above Draco's, claiming, taking, owning. His hands were no less idle, running all over Draco's body, covering every inch of it, and with every movement silently declaring _this __is __all __mine_.

Draco moaned. It was true. Every part of him was Harry's. Two months apart did nothing to quench his thirst for this. It heightened it; the feeling of being loved and worshipped and owned by Harry.

Harry extended his neck to nibble Draco's ear and bite it softly. Draco felt his knees weaken. "You've no idea …" Harry groaned harshly in his ear.

Draco would have wagered he had a _pretty __good __idea_, as he felt his entire body shiver with want against Harry, remembering the ecstasy of being loved by Harry. His hot breaths against Draco's lobe were doing all sorts of wicked things within Draco and he wasn't at all surprised to find himself start to harden.

Harry's possession of him was forceful; the press of his chest was demanding. His hands journeyed down Draco's side until they rested at his arse. Moaning, Draco felt Harry curl his fingers to grasp him tightly and draw him closer until he could feel Harry's hardened length through his breeches.

Draco arched his neck. "Harry … yes …" He pressed even closer, addicted to the feeling of Harry's arousal. He couldn't wait to see it, touch it.

"I want you," Harry hissed, and when he pulled away from Draco's ear, his eyes spoke of uninhibited passion.

Draco's legs trembled with the evidence of his lust. He felt Harry's hands grab his arse more forcefully to keep him up. He leant in to kiss the bit of skin right in front of Harry's ear. He whispered, "Then take me."

A deep noise escaped Harry as he crushed their mouths together once more. One of his hands crept forward to palm Draco's groin through his clothing, kneading it with force, causing powerful waves of pleasure to ebb and flow in him. Draco could do nothing but grab onto Harry's shoulders and hope he wouldn't let him fall. Their mouths separated loudly.

"You're all I think about," Harry breathed; the sound of his voice was wild. His hands continued their mission, drawing Draco further and further into desire, making him forget everything but the two of them. "All I dream about. Can't get you out of my mind. I remember everything about you. Your kiss, your touch; you writhing beneath me—"

Draco felt his eyes roll at his words; his fingers curled into Harry's shoulders. His legs could no longer hold him up. He felt Harry press closer to steady him against the wall. Draco was utterly trapped, but he didn't care. "Harryyy …" he hissed, rocking his hips forward, desperate to feel Harry's erection.

Harry groaned and clenched his hand tighter on Draco's arse. "God, Draco, you make me wild."

Draco bit his lip and locked eyes with Harry. "Fuck me".

Harry's eyes darkened a second before he forcibly lifted Draco up from his arse, so that his feet left the ground. Draco didn't let himself yelp in shock, but he clung to Harry, trusting he wouldn't fall.

Before Draco's mind could catch up to what was happening, Draco found himself being lowered onto the bed, Harry above him.

"Take your clothes off," Harry demanded, staring unblinking at him.

Draco couldn't help but let out a small moan as his hands moved to obey instantly. He felt his entire body blushing under Harry's intense gaze but he didn't stop until the last of his clothing was tossed off the bed and he lay as naked as the day he was born, aroused beyond compare. He knew he probably should have been embarrassed, but he felt no shame. Not when Harry was looking at him like he was the greatest treasure to be found on earth.

"So beautiful," Harry whispered with his black eyes and flushed skin. Then Harry lowered himself slowly on top of Draco, and kissed his neck. Draco gasped loudly into the room, clutching Harry's hair. There was something sinfully erotic about the feel of Harry's fully clothed body writhing on top of his nude one. "Waited so long for this," Harry confessed with his mouth pressed near Draco's collarbone.

Draco couldn't have agreed more as he wriggled and gasped under Harry's wondering hands, which explored him from shoulder to knee and back up again, until they settled on his hard erection, palming it gently.

Arching his spine, Draco could only groan. "Don't tease me," he pleaded.

"Not teasing," Harry replied, quickly kissing Draco's mouth, before he slithered down Draco's body, licking his nipples and navel on his way down, and stopped, his face hovering above Draco's straining length.

Draco whimpered, "Harry …" staring at his mischievous green eyes. The next thing Draco knew, Harry had his mouth on him. "Oh!"

He saw Harry smile around his tip, and their eyes never broke contact, while his tongue laved all around him, making Draco's toes curl in pleasure.

"Oh, my god!" Draco breathed, raking his fingers through Harry's hair. He would never have expected this from Harry, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He felt the urge to rock his hips forward but he knew he shouldn't, not while he was in Harry's mouth. The effort to withhold was nearly killing him. He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut, his body writhing all over the bed, almost as if he was trying to escape. Harry's hand slid onto his thighs and began rubbing them gently up and down his skin, coaxing them apart. Draco hungrily complied, spreading his legs and lifting his lips slightly. He felt and heard Harry groan while he sucked him, causing a wave of desire shoot down his spine.

Harry replaced his mouth with his hand, circling Draco's length and rubbing it from the base to the tip. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked with a husky voice.

"I have a … fairly good idea …" Draco let out, while he struggled to deal with the amazing sensations of Harry's hand on him.

Harry laughed softly. "Do you have any idea what you make me want do you?"

Draco bit his lip. "If it's what I'm—_ah_—thinking … then get on with it …"

"What are you thinking?"

Draco made a soft mewling noise when Harry's thumb flicked over the head of his erection. "Stop _teasing_," he begged.

"What are you thinking, Draco?" Harry repeated, flicking his thumb again and squeezing a little harder.

"Ngahh … I'm thinking …" Draco arched his spine. He forgot what he was saying. "Harryyy …"

Harry stopped moving his hand, making Draco want to hit him. "No!" he blurted.

"Tell me. What do you want me to do?"

"I already told you!" Draco cried out, desperate to feel Harry's hand moving again. Past the point of shame, he spread his legs further apart, hoping it would encourage Harry.

He heard Harry groan in desire, but his hand remained as motionless as a stone. "Tell me again."

"Just touch me, Harry," he begged.

He saw Harry grin wickedly. "I am touching you."

"Dammit, Harry! Move your … hand." Draco closed his eyes tightly and tried to control his breathing.

To Draco's utter relief, Harry restarted his hand. But this time, he moved it down past Draco's manhood and rested it carefully on Draco's entrance. "Oh … yes … please." He had missed this. Missed the feeling of Harry's hand touching his most intimate place. In the months of their separation, Draco had tried to enter a finger into himself like Harry had done, hoping to recreate the sensations, but everything fell short. Now, as he felt the rough pads of Harry's two middle fingers brush over his entrance, Draco bucked his hips wildly. "Feels … so good." He blindly reached for his drawers and found what he was looking for. He thrust the bottle into Harry's hand, trusting he knew what to do.

Harry chuckled, still moving his wicked fingers. "Eager?"

Draco had the sense to blush a little, before he decided he didn't want to care. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Harry dropped his smile and stared into Draco. "Oh, I believe. Trust me." He coated his fingers in the lubricant. "I've wanted this for so long. I'm so hard for you right now." He returned his fingers to Draco's entrance and spread the substance all over Draco's hole. "I can't wait to be inside you."

Draco moaned and lifted his hips, bending his knees. "Just put them in me," he begged impulsively.

To Draco's dismay, he didn't feel Harry's fingers breach him. "I need to be careful," he said instead.

"Why?"

"It's been two months, Draco. I have to prepare—"

"I'll be fine," Draco interrupted. "Trust me. Please."

"You'll hurt," Harry insisted, continuing to be gentle with his silk-soft touch on Draco's entrance.

Draco blushed. "I won't."

"Yes, you—"

"No, Harry. Trust me. I won't." Draco could feel his cheeks grow warm, and he studiously tried to avoid Harry's eyes.

"How can you be sure?"

Draco didn't say anything. He bit his lip.

But he wasn't fooling Harry. "Draco … what aren't you telling me?" There was anxiety in his voice, and if Draco heard correctly, a hint of jealously. _Harry __must __be __thinking __I__'__ve __been __with __other __men_, he suddenly realised.

Still blushing, Draco said, "I've … When you were gone … I tried to … put my own fingers …" _God, __this __was __humiliating!_

He didn't finish his sentence. Harry was suddenly all over him, devouring his mouth in a forceful kiss. In the meantime, one of Harry's fingers finally entered him. Draco moaned into the kiss and bore down on the single digit, silently begging for another.

"God, Draco," Harry groaned. He pushed another finger inside and began stretching Draco. "You fingered yourself?"

Draco could have sworn he had never been this red in his whole life. He nodded silently, and screwed his eyes shut to enjoy the feeling of Harry's fingers. It wasn't long before a third finger entered and Draco was begging for the real thing. "I'm ready … just … please."

Harry grinned and carefully took out his fingers and in record time, stripped himself of all his clothing and tossed them wildly all about the place. He was about to reach to prepare his erection, when Draco slapped his hands away and wordlessly, took control. He wrapped his palms around Harry's length and smiled happily when he heard Harry groan and extend his head back, eyes closed, savouring the sensation. Draco couldn't help but laugh softly, loving the power he had in his hands, and loving the length and thickness of Harry.

Harry gently took Draco's hand and pulled it off. "Enough." He kissed him softly. "I want you."

Draco lay back on the bed, his heart beat accelerating with the lust and love he felt. Harry stretched his muscled frame on top of him and Draco spread his legs. They kissed for a long moment while Harry gently guided himself to Draco's arse.

"I've wanted this for so long," he said. "Ever since we were separated. I love you."

Draco could almost feel his heart melting. "I love you too." And then he felt Harry's legs tense as he drove himself in, burying inside Draco. "Oh! Yes …" Draco gasped out, ignoring the flash of pain as he was forced wider than he was prepared. He didn't care. All he knew was that he finally had Harry back.

Harry grunted and bent his neck to claim Draco in a kiss while his lower body rocked steadily, pushing himself all the way in, before sliding back. "You feel so good around me," he blurted. "Like I can … feel your very heartbeat."

Draco basked in the feeling, lifting his arms above his head in the direction of the headboard and smiling in complete satisfaction. _This_ was where he wanted to be. He writhed beneath Harry, glorying in the pressure of Harry's powerful body. He felt loved and protected and cherished under this man who would move heaven and hell to be with him.

Harry grabbed Draco's body and rolled them over so that Draco ended astride him, still with Harry embedded deep.

"I wanna see all of you," Harry whispered, searching Draco's body with his eyes and gently rocking his hips up.

Draco grinned and met Harry's movements, leaning on top with his hands anchored on Harry's chest. Harry's own hands cradled Draco's hips and guided him up and down, up and down. Draco felt Harry go even deeper inside him and it made his heart soar.

"Oh, Harry …" He bit his lip and arched his neck in rapture. He didn't feel an ounce of self-consciousness at being on such a display, his entire nakedness exposed to Harry. There was nothing to be ashamed about. This was just he and Harry. Two people in love, loving each other.

One of Harry's hands caught Draco's erection and stimulated it until Draco was grinding down and shuddering in pleasure. He felt himself near his edge, his breath harshening, his pulse accelerating. Harry gasped him harder and shoved his hips up with more force, impaling Draco so that he felt each powerful thrust through his whole body.

"I'm gonna …" Draco began, breathless and writhing, biting his lips and feeling sweat drip down his forehead. "Harry! Yes!"

"Come for me," Harry groaned.

That did it. The pleasure was insurmountable, reaching every single one of his nerves. Draco screamed as all his muscles stiffened to bear with the onslaught. Blackness curled into the sides of his vision. He was blind with the pleasure, feeling wash over him with all the force of a tidal wave, leaving him breathless and trembling. His breath returned with shuddering pants, unable to believe he was still alive after that.

Unbelievably, Harry was still hard within him and making movements inside Draco's arse. He was gripping Draco's sides with so much force, he was sure there would be bruises tomorrow. "You …" Harry began, his pupils dilated with lust, "are exquisite when you come …"

Draco whimpered weakly, feeling the need to burrow into Harry's arms and sleep for eternity.

But Harry had other plans. He still hadn't come. He forced Draco to move atop him, still with the endless up and down dance. Draco was shaking with overstimulation, but he didn't want to stop until he felt Harry come inside him. He clenched around Harry and rocked with Harry with quivering legs.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, the veins in his neck bulging out as blood coursed through him. His voice was strained; Draco could tell he was near the end.

Harry tunnelled powerfully inside him, filling him to the brim. Draco felt like a lifeless doll, too lost in the sensations of sex to be aware of anything but the feeling of Harry tensing up, his muscles seizing and his mouth dropping open.

"Draco!" he gasped loudly, curling his fingers deeper into Draco's hips as his lower body surged up for a final thrust.

Liquid warmth flooded Draco and he felt himself breathe out an enormous breath, utterly satisfied. He watched Harry beneath him, his eyes closed, his face flushed, his lips bruised, his muscles slowly relaxing as the waves gradually left him.

Eventually, he was as weak as Draco, and Draco couldn't help but flop down on him until they were entangled.

"Love you," Draco whispered exhaustedly, burying his face in Harry's neck.

"Love you too."

Draco absently kissed Harry's neck. "We should talk," he said from the tiny still-sensible place in his mind that told him there were things that were still unsaid that needed to be aired out.

"Later," Harry promised. "Sleep now."

-mp-

When Draco awoke, he was convinced he wasn't. He was sure he was still dreaming. How else would he feel the warm presence of another solid body pressed up behind him on his bed?

"Harry?" he whispered tentatively, finding it hard to believe yesterday had been real.

There was a subtle shuffling behind him, the bed sheets shifted and Draco could feel a hot breath against his nape as Harry burrowed closer. Draco shivered. He was tempted to turn around and face Harry, but he didn't want to disturb the moment and the warmth. Harry was clearly still asleep—probably tired from all his travelling if he had come all the way from the north. Draco paused and remembered the rumours about the man called Harry Potter and the price Draco's father had put on his head.

He told himself to lay aside those thoughts. Now wasn't the time. Now was one of those rare moments in life where everything was perfect and Draco felt both loved and sated.

He sighed and wriggled deeper into the sheet, closer to Harry. A knowing smile formed on his face when he pressed up against Harry's hardness. He felt it against his arse and a spark of desire went through him. He bit his lip and desperately wanted a repeat of last night's activities.

_Stop __it, __Draco, _he told himself, _Harry__'__s __tired. __He __needs __sleep._

The sensible option was to stop moving and slide away from Harry. But sensibility didn't sound like half as much fun when he suddenly felt Harry harden, shuffle closer and bury his face in the back of Draco's neck.

Draco grinned. Harry may still be asleep but his subconscious clearly wanted it.

He pressed his backside against Harry and slowly rubbed himself on the man. Immediately, his breathing sped up and he felt completely scandalous at his shamelessness. He was so very hard for it.

Harry's hardening length slid into the crevice of his arse and Draco couldn't help but whimper. The small sound felt ear-piercing in the silent room. He froze and hoped Harry wasn't awake yet. After a minute, when he heard nothing but his own pounding heartbeat, Draco relaxed a fraction and returned to his mission, rubbing against Harry.

His heart almost stopped in terror when he felt a hand grab his hip tightly.

"You are playing with fire," a deep, husky voice spoke in his ear, heavy with both sleep and desire.

A rush of heat shot down Draco's spine and he grinned. "Am I?" he asked innocently.

"Teasing a sleeping man like that."

Draco was breathless. "I thought you were awake."

"Liar," Harry whispered in his ear, the hand on Draco's hip sliding down to his thigh and then up to his ribs with maddening slowness, as if priming Draco up for something.

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it," he husked.

"Oh, I enjoyed it." Harry rocked his crotch forward so that evidence of his pleasure was plain to them both. "So much, that now you're going to have to deal with the result of your wicked teasing."

Draco grinned even more. "I can handle it." In fact, he was _hoping _for it.

"After last night, I've no doubt." Harry's roaming hand crept forward to clasp onto Draco's erection. "Mmm, you _are_ ready for this."

"Now who's teasing?" Draco asked, his voice catching as Harry's insistent hand played with his tip.

"You can handle it," Harry replied mischievously, repeating Draco's words.

Well, if Harry was going to tease, Draco was hardly about to sit back and do nothing. He decided that now was the perfect time to finally swallow Harry down in his mouth. In a flash, he flipped around, ignoring Harry's questioning, took Harry's erection firmly in his hand and slithered down the bed enough until he was eye level with his impressive manhood.

"Eager for me, Harry?"

"Can't you tell?" Harry replied, his keen eyes watching Draco leaning ever closer to him. When he tried to lift his hips up, Draco pulled his head away. Harry groaned in frustration and tried to lift again. But again, Draco retreated back, keeping his still hand clenched around Harry's base. He knew he would pay for it later, but right now, it was just too much fun. "You're wicked," Harry breathed out, giving up on his efforts and resting his head back on the pillow. His chest rose and fell with his breaths, struggling to gain control over his desire.

"What did you want me to do?" Draco asked pleasantly, slowly dragging his fingers over Harry's length.

"You bloody well know what," came the lust-heavy growl that had a part of Draco a little scared of what Harry might do to him when he had control again. He really was playing with fire. "Suck me."

The tone of the command overtook Draco's impulses and he obeyed immediately, burying Harry's tip into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked. He felt a little obscene with his mouth stretched so. He could already feel saliva building in the back of his mouth and threaten to overspill out past his lips. But he didn't care one ounce. He delighted in it; in its wantonness and in Harry's desire.

He moaned around Harry. The response was a buck of the hips and Draco could feel Harry's erection nudge the entrance to his throat. The sudden urge to pull him out and cough was overwhelming, and he barely managed to resist it. The sheer eroticism seized him. He was surprised to find he himself was hard beyond belief and straining against the sheets, ready to explode.

Harry groaned and Draco sucked. With Harry's fingers buried in his hair, Draco tried to guide Harry once more to the very back of his mouth, this time actively relaxing his throat. Copious amounts of saliva and Harry's pre-come were making the inward slide easier. He felt a large sense of accomplishment when he managed most of Harry's length in his mouth.

Harry's breath heightened and his muscles tensed. The laving of Draco's tongue all around his erection and tip brought him to the edge. Fingers pulling his hair roughly was Draco's cue to pull back a fraction, just in time for a gush of liquid to hit his tongue. The first swallow was tentative, but he wasn't give time to adjust before it was followed by more and more and more, until there was nothing he could do but swallow it. It wasn't particularly pleasant, Draco decided, but it was worth the sight of Harry's neck thrown back and mouth spewing husky groans that a few months ago, would have Draco blushing like a child.

He swallowed until he was coaxing the last dribbles, before he let Harry go and wiped his mouth.

There was hardly any time to breathe before Harry grabbed him the arms, pulled him up and used a rough hand to palm Draco's hardness firmly. Draco came only seconds later, already stimulated to the point of climax just by having Harry in his mouth.

It was a long minute of heavy breathing and shameless grinning from the both of them before Draco decided he desperately needed to use the bathroom. Not only to wash his mouth and the splattering of his own release off his chest, but also to deposit the remnants of last night left in his arse. His cheeks suddenly went completely red.

"Bathroom," he murmured in embarrassment, trying not to look Harry in the eye.

"Are you alright?"

Draco nodded, turning his head away. He should have known Harry would be concerned by his actions.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

"I just need to use the bathroom," he replied, pushing off the pillows to stand.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, panic beginning to settle in his voice.

"No, no," Draco assured, getting up.

"Why are you acting afraid of me?"

"I'm not. I just really need to … wash up and …"

"And?" Harry prompted, looking at Draco with his ridiculously green, endearing eyes.

Draco's entire body blushed. " … And get rid of what you … put …" He made some vague gestures with his hand.

Realisation dawned on Harry whose eyes went wide before they took on an amused look. "I see."

"Yeah," Draco said pathetically, his cheeks flaming. Without wasting another second, he rushed away, trying to ignore Harry's eyes on him.

It was a full fifteen minutes before Draco deemed himself presentable enough to return back to the bedroom. Harry was sitting up against the headboard and watching him shamelessly as he entered. Draco tried to ignore his self-consciousness at his fully naked state. It wasn't as if Harry's hadn't seen him before. He got back onto the bed and sat cross-legged, facing Harry.

"So … you're really here."

"You of all people should know that," Harry remarked, eyes spirited.

Draco rolled his eyes playfully. "I missed you."

"I _love_ you," Harry said with so much sincerity, it made Draco blush. "I couldn't stand to be so far away from you. I rode without stopping to get here."

Draco smiled and ran a soft hand down Harry's shadowed jaw. "I'm glad you're here. But …"

Harry's smile dropped. "What?"

"You shouldn't have come."

"Why not?"

"You're in too much danger here."

"You're worth the danger," Harry said firmly, making Draco's heart melt.

"You don't understand. My father knows who you are," Draco said.

Harry's eyebrow dipped down in confusion. "Who am I?"

Draco hesitated for a second. "Harry Potter," he said, turning his voice up at the end, as if his name was a question.

Harry took on a look of shock and understanding. He stared at Draco for a long silent moment, as if trying to gauge Draco's reaction to his name. "So you know," was all he said after a while. His tone of voice gave nothing away.

Draco nodded. "I found out the other day."

To Draco's complete surprise, Harry smiled broadly. Draco was taken aback. He gave Harry a curious look. Harry said, "So I guess you were right about you not being the real Prince of Slytherin."

It took a second for Harry's words to register. Draco screwed his face in total confusion. "What?" he asked stupidly.

"When you told me you were the sham Prince; you know why now," Harry said in an attempt to clarify. Unfortunately, it only left Draco even more confused.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked, wondering why he wasn't understanding Harry. Was he missing something?

Harry gave him a look. "You just said you knew who I was," he reasoned.

"I … I thought I did. But you're not making any sense."

"Harry Potter," he said, giving Draco an expectant look.

Draco nodded. "Yes, the leader of the army up north. Gryffindor," he explained.

The response was instantaneous. Harry's face shot open in cold shock. He stared like he had just seen a dead man walking. "You know about_Gryffindor?_" he yelped.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Draco replied.

"I thought you were trying to tell me you knew _I_ was supposed to be the Prince of Slytherin!" Harry said.

Draco paused, not sure whether he had heard Harry correctly. "_What?_"

Harry's face went from scandalised shock to reproached guilt. He coughed a little. "Oh, uh, you didn't know about that?"

Draco decided this entire conversation was far too weird to be true. "What _are_ you talking about?"

Harry, the fool, rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly adorably nervous. He winced, as if running over his answer in his mind. "Uh … never mind."

"No … no, you need to tell me what you know."

Harry looked all around the room. Everywhere but Draco. "Er … you know how you told me your family's not really royalty?"

"Uh-huh," Draco replied, suddenly discovering that his pulse had shot up.

"And you know how you said the Prince _before_ your dad decided he didn't want to take the Throne?"

"_Uh-huh_ …"

"That … that was my father."

The silence was almost palpable for an extended moment. "Excuse me?" Draco asked lightly.

Harry breathed out a large breath of air. "It's true. I can show you the proof too."

"Your father … was the Prince of Slytherin," Draco said in a dry tone, wanting clarification.

"Weird, huh?" Harry let out a weak, fake chuckle.

Draco said nothing. He put all his effort into trying to keep a steady breathing pattern. Nothing about anything made sense. Harry was supposed to be the Prince instead of him? Was the world laughing at him right now?

"But … the thing is," Harry said, "I'm not the real Heir. I'm actually the Heir of Salazar Slytherin's greatest enemy … Godric Gryffindor."

Draco began wondering if Harry was pulling his leg. Surely, all this sounded far too surreal. But the sheepish look on Harry's face was just awkward enough to make Draco think that perhaps Harry wasn't lying. There was no hidden laugh or joke to be seen behind Harry's eyes. "This is … weird," was all he could say.

Harry nodded blankly, watching Draco closely to gauge his reaction. He played with his fingers. "Do you hate me?"

Harry looked like he was dreading the answer could be yes, which made Draco want to slap him. As if he could hate Harry. "No," Draco answered, inwardly thinking Harry was adorable when his whole body relaxed in relief. "I guess I'm just … angry no one's ever told me."

"I only found out myself too."

"Do you think my father knows?"

"Well … does he also know my surname is Potter?"

Draco nodded.

"Then yes, he knows. At least, he knew my father was the Prince."

"He wants you dead," Draco said softly. Then he nodded to himself. "Makes sense now. He's probably scared you'll take the Throne off us."

"Trust me, I have no desire to. I have my own new set of problem being King of Gryffindor?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up and for some reason, he felt a wave of heat flush through him. "You're a … King?"

"Kind of." He shrugged carelessly, as if the issue of royalty didn't faze him. It made Draco love him just a little more. "I'm the Heir of Gryffindor, so I guess I am. Plus, I think your father also wants me dead because he's in league with Voldemort."

Draco squinted. "Who?"

Harry paused. "Oh no." Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. "Well done, Potter, you had to open your damn mouth," he murmured to himself.

"Who's Voldemort?"

Sheepish, Harry said, "My … enemy."

"Excuse me?"

Harry looked at Draco and smiled softly. "Long story short, he wants me dead and I want him dead."

"Why do you want to kill him?"

"He killed my parents."

Draco felt like he had been slapped and sat back. For a few seconds, he didn't know what to say. Fortunately, Harry spoke next.

"Don't worry about it; I was only a baby."

"I'm sorry, Harry." Draco crept closer and sat right beside him, looking into his green eyes. He was having that awful feeling again, realising he still knew next to nothing about Harry.

"It's fine," Harry murmured. He then craned his neck and gave Draco a quick kiss.

"Why would anyone want to kill them?" Draco asked softly.

Harry expelled a long breath and slipped an arm around Draco's shoulders and began trailing his fingers lightly on Draco's far arm. "Because my father pissed him off. Voldemort—or Tom Riddle, as he was known then—"

"That name is familiar," Draco remarked.

"He was a noble in the Slytherin court when my father was the Prince," Harry explained.

Draco barely stopped himself from cracking a smile. It sounded completely odd that Harry, _his_ Harry, was royalty. And Draco wasn't. He shook his head. _No, __that __sounded __off._ He swore not to dwell on it for longer than necessary.

"Anyway, Riddle had two main aims in life. To rule over Slytherin as King, and to get his hands on some ancient Sword … actually, he still does. Even today, Riddle's obsessed with possessing the Sword. But the catch is, only the Heir of Gryffindor can wield it."

"That's you," Draco said, to ensure he was following.

"Well yes, but before I was born, it was my father. And my father was the Prince of Slytherin."

"The _sham_ Prince," Draco corrected with a mischievous smile, repeating the insult Harry had given him long ago.

Harry chuckled. "I suppose so. Turns out neither of us are actually Princes of Slytherin."

"Continue," Draco said graciously.

"Where was I?" Harry mused. "Right, so Riddle wanted the Slytherin Thone and the Sword. My father stood in the way of both those things. So he blackmailed my father into abdicating the Throne and fleeing Slytherin. Before he left, he told my father about the Sword and said that one day he would retrieve it for Riddle."

"But your father wouldn't just _hand_ the Sword over," Draco said.

"No. Riddle was expecting a huge war. Which is why he wanted my father to build up an army," Harry replied. "But, my father being as stubborn as he was, did nothing. In that time, Riddle became the pseudo-leader of Slytherin, a fake king; and my father met my mother. Anyway, years later, when I was a year old, Riddle returned to my father and saw that he had failed; he didn't have an army and he didn't have the Sword. So he killed them …" Harry lifted the hair off his forehead "… and gave me this."

Draco peered at the bizarre shaped scar on Harry's forehead he had sometimes wondered about.

"Because I was the last surviving Heir, and the only person who could wield the Sword, he marked me and forged my destiny."

"Destiny?" Draco echoed.

"To build a Gryffindor army, wage war and retrieve the Sword, which Riddle plans to usurp in battle." Harry shrugged. "It's either me or him. One of us must kill the other." Harry rubbed the back of his neck again and Draco waited patiently, riveted to the story of Harry's life. "But then, as Riddle was escaping from my home, he was cursed into a half-life and his body disappeared."

Draco frowned. "Who did that?"

"A wise old man by the name of Albus Dumbledore. He's one of my mentors now; almost like a grandfather to me. With his physical body gone, Riddle could no longer rule Slytherin—"

"And that's when my father took over," Draco finished, feeling like the final pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

"Exactly. But just because Riddle's lost his body, it doesn't mean he's powerless. I … uh … I'm pretty sure Riddle, or Voldemort, has allied himself with your father. And they both want me dead."

For a moment, Draco let himself ponder on these thoughts before realisation dawned on him, leaving a hollow feeling inside him. "If that's true, that's why my father has declared war on Gryffindor," he stated miserably.

Harry blinked. "He has?"

Draco nodded. "He stopped the war with Durmstrang to redirect all our troops against you. He's made you public enemy number one."

"Lovely," Harry commented dryly.

"Which is why you being here is too dangerous. Harry, you need to go."

"I only just came—"

"I know, but the entire Empire is against you. You're safer far away."

"You want me to go?" Harry asked.

Draco stopped. "Of course not," he replied, realising his voice was becoming unstable with emotion. "If it was up to me, I wouldn't let you out of my sight. But … my father …" he trailed off, closing his eyes. He never thought it would come to this. How was he supposed to stand by his father and watch as he waged war against the only person Draco loved? But then again, how could he betray his father and ally himself with Harry?

Stalemate.

Harry seemed to realise this too. "Draco," he said softly, gently holding Draco's jaw in his hand and playing with the fine blond locks behind his ear. He opened his mouth to say more, but held back in the last instance, as if realising nothing he could say right now would be fair.

Draco placed a hand on Harry's bare chest and felt his heartbeat. "How am I supposed to choose?" he whispered.

Harry's answer was a kiss, soft yet desperate. Draco felt like his very breath was being taken out of him.

After a long while, his tears fell where their mouths joined.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Ginny begins to suspect another man in Harry's life, while Draco finds out about Ginny. Oh Harry, what a tangled web you've weaved. _


	40. Remember the Promise

_Chapter rating: **NC-17**_

-mp-

Chapter 39

**Remember the Promise**

"Harry's gone," Ron announced.

Ginny, and the rest of the small group huddled around the morning campfire turned to look at him as he approached. Almost everyone's faces were stunned. Ginny simply watched with a familiar feeling of misery. She, of course, knew Harry had left. She was the _reason_ he had left.

"Again?" Hermione said, exasperated. "Can that man sit still for two days?"

Remus snorted. "Have you met him?"

"I know, it's just … He _just_ came back from Azkaban. Where on earth could he be now now?" the Princess asked with concern.

"Who knows?" Ron said with a sign, plonking himself on a log and rubbing his palms together for warmth. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna tie a leash around his neck."

"Maybe he just wanted some time alone?" Ginny suggested in a soft voice. She saw Hermione give her a curious look. "I wouldn't blame him. He has a lot to deal with."

"Yes, but _now_ isn't the time to go missing. We're on the brink of war and our fearless leader has vanished!" Ron huffed loudly.

"What possible reason could he have to go away?" Remus asked no one in particular.

"Harry often doesn't have a reason to leave," the wise voice of the Professor said. "Or if he does, it's probably something we don't understand. He goes where he wants. Bit of fresh air, I expect."

"The air is just as fresh up here. Fresher, in fact," Ron grouched. "Stupid Potter."

"Oh, leave him alone, Ron. It's not like your problems are as bad as others," Ginny replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn't sure why she was acting so angry with her brother, when she herself was furious with Harry. But Harry wasn't around, so the next best thing was to lash out at Ron.

"You should know where he is!" Ron exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Ginny. "You're his _wife_!"

"That doesn't mean I know everything about him, Ronald!" Ginny shot back, deeply hurt because it was true. She knew so little of her own husband.

"Ginny," Hermione's comforting voice spoke, "can I speak with you alone for a moment?"

She nodded and the two of them left the bigger group and made for her and Harry's home.

"Ginny, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ginny said immediately, avoiding eye contact with her.

Hermione's face took on a look of realisation. "You told Harry, didn't you? About the baby?"

And suddenly, Ginny broke down in tears. She clutched her face and tried to turn away from Hermione, but the Princess held her shoulders and pulled her close for a hug. Ginny cried and cried, feeling all her anger toward Harry and misery regarding their shambles of a marriage to come out.

"Ginny …" Hermione soothed, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Ginny said wetly, pulling away and reaching for her apron to wipe her face. "It's not okay! The reason Harry's gone is because he doesn't want me or the baby! I told him and he left! How is that okay? My own husband despises me!"

"He doesn't despise you."

"Yes, he does. You don't know what it's like, Hermione. He never comforts me, never talks to me, never laughs with me. Even … even when we're intimate, he doesn't look at me and doesn't speak. He usually just … finishes and rolls away from me. He hates me!" Ginny exclaimed, not the slightest bit embarrassed about telling the Princess about her private life with Harry.

"Then why would he marry you? He loves you."

"We were forced to marry. Just like we were forced to have this baby so that Harry would have an Heir," Ginny cried, holding her still flat stomach. "I'm nothing. Just a vessel. That's it."

"Maybe the reason Harry went away was because he was stunned. You had just told him he's going to become a father! Maybe he just … wasn't sure what to do—"

"No, you didn't see him, Hermione. He was looking at me like being pregnant was all my fault. Like I was a problem. He wasn't happy about it and was shocked to find that _I_ was."

Ginny closed her eyes and breathed out heavily, as a thought buried deep in her mind began to worm its way to the surface. She had often contemplated that Harry had a secret he'd never told anyone; something he was forced to hide. But she had convinced herself in the past she was making things up. Now, in light of Harry's disappearance, Ginny couldn't help but consider it once more.

"You know," she began, "Harry was like this from the very start. Even before we were married. He was never in love with me. And it makes me think …" she trailed off, chewing in her lower lip in thought.

"Think what?" the Princess prompted softly.

"That he's in love with someone else," she said.

Hermione frowned. "But … if he was, why didn't he just marry her?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know. But it still makes sense."

"How do you know?"

"He's always absent with me; and acts like he'd rather be somewhere else than with me. And, sometimes at night, when he's asleep, he calls out other names."

"Who?"

"I don't know," Ginny confessed. "Trust me, if I knew, I would have gone up to her and given them a piece of my mind."

"What name?"

"Draco," she said with a shrug. Honestly, she had never heard of such a name before.

But the reaction from Hermione was instantaneous. "_Draco?_" she repeated in a hushed tone, looking scandalised.

"What? Do you know who she is?"

Hermione's eyes wandered, and Ginny could tell she was pondering something. "I know of only one Draco, and he is no woman."

Ginny screwed her face. Well, that didn't make sense. "Perhaps I was wrong then. Who is he, then? Is he from Ravenclaw?"

Hermione made a small laughing sound on her throat. "No, he's actually the Prince of—" She cut her sentence and her smile dropped entirely. Suddenly, her entire face took on a look a shocked realisation.

"What is it?" Ginny begged. "The Prince of what?"

"Slytherin," Hermione whispered.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Why on earth would Harry even _know_ who that was?"

"Ginny," Hermione said, gently holding Ginny's hand in hers, "when Harry was kidnapped, where was he taken?"

Ginny paused and blinked at Hermione, realising her train of thought now. "He was taken to Slytherin," she replied slowly.

"And what did Harry tell us he had to do there?"

Ginny discovered her heart rate had shot up. "He was the Prince's bodyguard."

Hermione nodded. "Harry knows who the Prince of Slytherin is. In fact, he probably knows the Prince better than most."

"But … why would Harry call out his name in his sleep?" Ginny asked. Then, she shook her head and decided to answer the question herself. "Maybe he was just remembering his time in Slytherin and how horrible it was being around the Prince."

"Maybe," Hermione said. "But Harry always seemed happiest when he was talking about Slytherin."

Ginny nodded, agreeing. "I know. I noticed that too. I never understood why Harry could have fond memories of the place he hated so much before he went."

"He could still hate Slytherin. I mean, we're almost at war with them. It could be that he …" she tapered her voice off.

But Ginny picked up the sentence. "It could be that he only has fond memories of the Prince." A cold realisation settled on her heart and her tears returned. "Oh my god … Harry's in love with him."

Hermione jumped in quickly. "We don't know that."

"Every clue points to it," Ginny objected. "It makes sense. In fact, that's probably where he is right now. With the Prince."

Hermione rubbed Ginny's shoulders to comfort her. "Look, don't think about it now. Harry will return soon and then we'll sort this all out then. We don't know if it's true, so let's not point any fingers right now."

"But what do I do?" Ginny asked in a small voice, suddenly feeling very alone. "My own husband, the father of my child … the _King_ of Gryffindor … is in love with someone else." She got caught up in sobs once more and she buried her face in Hermione's shoulder. "What do I do?" she cried.

"Shhh … it'll be alright."

Ginny knew it wouldn't be.

-mp-

Three loud knocks on the door had Harry jumping out of the bed like hell was on his heels.

Draco's eyes shot wide open. "Quick, the bathroom!" Draco hissed to him urgently, and Harry hastened to obey.

"But my clothes!" Harry whispered harshly back.

Draco's heart was in his mouth. Harry's clothes were strewn all around the bed. "I'll get them. You hide."

Harry nodded and dashed inside the bathroom, while Draco hastily dragged a robe around him. He didn't have enough time to put on some clothes underneath. He rushed into his sitting room and saw his and Harry's clothes thrown around the place from last night. He kicked his own garments underneath a nearby couch, and then bent to pick up Harry's, just as another knock sounded from the door.

Draco schooled his voice to sound irritable and petulant. "Wait!" he barked to whoever was on the other side of his door. It was probably just his guards.

As he bunched Harry's clothes into his arms and lifted up, something fell off it and landed on the ground with a soft thud. Sighing, Draco leaned down to grab it but stopped when he saw what it was.

A ring. A simple, golden band, wide enough to fit around one of Harry's fingers.

Draco frowned and felt a sudden deep sinking feeling in his heart. He could think of only one reason for this ring. He pocketed it in his robe and swore to ponder on it later. Right now, he had to keep up appearances.

He tossed Harry's clothes behind some curtains quickly before walking to his door and yanking it open with an irate expression on his face. Sure enough, his band of bodyguards was there.

"What?" he snapped.

They all flinched. One of the spoke, "Your Highness … it is time for breakfast."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And?"

They looked at one another. "And … well … you always go to breakfast," the one in the middle stammered stupidly.

Draco glared at him menacingly, and spoke to them in a venomously low voice. "If I had wanted to go today, I would be ready by now. Clearly I am not. So I would be much obliged if you never interrupted me again and kept your horrible little faces out of my life. If I want to do something, rest assured I will do it. And right now, I would like nothing more than to spend the entire day in my room _uninterrupted._ Is that understood?"

They nodded silently.

"_Is __that __understood?_" Draco asked again with thinly veiled contempt.

"Yes, my lord," they all murmured, looking properly admonished.

"Good. Now leave."

Draco slammed the door shut before they could make a move. He took a moment to breathe against the door, the weight of the Harry's ring in his pocket suddenly too heavy. He walked to his bedroom with silent footfalls.

"Draco?" he heard Harry ask from the bathroom.

"They're gone," he assured.

Harry came out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a relieved smile on his face. "That was close."

Draco forced himself to smile also as he sat back on the bed. The smell of Harry was all around him. "I told them not to interrupt me, so we can be assured of privacy."

Harry came to the bed also. "Good, because I might be doing some things to you I prefer anyone else didn't see," he said in a low, playful voice, leaning over to him and nipping Draco on the ear.

Draco shivered and for a moment tried to forget about the ring. In this position, all he could see was Harry's wonderfully crafted torso. He swept his eyes over his chest and arms appreciatively. "You've been training," he remarked, noticing the layers of muscle straining just beneath Harry's skin.

Harry grinned and kissed him. "Of course. Do you approve?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Well considering you're the only one whose opinion matters to me, then yes," Harry said in that toe-curling deep voice of his.

But then, Draco thought of the ring once more and one other person in Harry's life yet unmentioned. His smile faded. Harry noticed and leant back, giving Draco a concerned look. "What is it?" Harry asked.

"Not even your wife?"

Harry didn't move. For a long moment, he didn't even blink. This was enough of a confirmation for Draco. He slowly felt his heart sink and ache. Then he began to berate himself; angry that he ever thought he and Harry had a chance. What was he thinking? Harry was married. And now he had had an affair.

It seems Harry didn't even try to deny it. "How did you know?" he asked after the silence started to turn cold and unbearable.

Draco slowly pulled out his ring and showed it to him. "This fell out of your clothes."

Harry's eyes settled on the golden band and he stared at it like it was poison; like it was killing him. He expelled a large breath and hung his head. Again, he drew back into silence.

Draco stared at his bent head and felt the light leave him. Whatever happiness that had existed within him seemed like a lifetime ago. He felt robbed. Cheated. Every second that Harry said nothing, was another sword piercing him. He was suddenly angry at Harry for even coming back at all. Before yesterday, Draco had almost convinced himself that Harry no longer meant anything to him. But one night with him had reversed that. And now, it was being ripped away from him again. Harry should have used his stupid head and known better. He shouldn't have come back. He had a bloody wife!

"We were forced to," came Harry's dead voice. "It wasn't my choice."

"You're married," Draco felt compelled to state. But even saying those words killed something inside him.

He saw Harry's jaw clench. "Yes," he said simply.

Draco closed his eyes for a second. "And you didn't tell me."

Harry looked up. Draco tried to avoid eye contact but couldn't help it. He felt drawn to his green eyes. "We were forced to, Draco," he repeated. "I don't love her."

Draco frowned, his eyebrows dipping down. "But you're married!"

"I know—"

"And you didn't think this is something I should know?" Draco demanded.

Harry said nothing, but he sighed. The rush of air from his mouth sounded like his very life was leaving him.

"Who is she?" Draco snapped.

"What does it matter?"

_ "Who is she?"_

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "She … The one I told you about. Ginny."

Draco let out a joyless laugh. "That's right. I remember. You never told me you were engaged to her, and now you're not telling me she's your wife. I'm sensing a pattern here."

Harry winced. "I didn't tell you because I don't love her. _You__'__re_ the one I love—"

"You _married_ her."

Harry gave him a frustrated look. "We were forced to! How many times do I have to say that?"

"You had a choice to make," Draco countered.

"No, I didn't. Just like you don't have a choice marrying Astoria. You're a Prince. I'm a King. These things happen for us."

Draco closed his mouth, knowing Harry was right. He knew what it was like to have your life lived for you.

"I needed to marry her … because I needed an heir," Harry said softly.

Draco felt his arms go numb and for a second hoped he had heard Harry incorrectly. He shook his head, as if it was possible to undo what he said. "No …" He let out a breath and suddenly wanted to scream in frustration. "You … You're going to be a father?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I found out the day I left Gryffindor and came riding to find you."

"Why?" he asked in a choked voice.

Harry placed a gentle hand on Draco's jaw and drew it up to glide over his ear. "Because that's not the life I want. I want to be with you. Not her."

Draco gave him a pained look, straight into his green eyes. "There are a million reasons why you shouldn't be here right now."

"I know." Harry kissed him softly. "But somehow, every single one of those reasons fade in the background when I'm with you. You're worth it all. And if my life was up to me, I'd never have married Ginny, I'd have run away with you and spent the rest of my life loving you."

"You really shouldn't speak like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll make it harder for me to let you go."

"Then don't let me go," Harry begged, whispering against Draco's lips. "Come with me."

"And then what? Watch you grow old with your wife and child and feel a stab in my heart every time you're with her and not me?" Draco shook his head. "I'd rather you were far away and completely untouchable."

"I'll leave her," Harry said impulsively, capturing Draco's mouth.

Draco pulled away. "You do realise she's now the Queen? You can't just divorce her."

"I'm the King. I can do whatever the hell I want."

Draco decided their argument was too impossible to even be worth continuing. He indulged Harry and opened his mouth into a body-shuddering kiss, leaning into Harry passionately.

When they pulled apart for air, Harry carefully tugged Draco's robe off. "And right now, I want to make love to you."

Draco felt his body shiver at his words and the sight of Harry's eyes darkening with lust. He settled down amongst the pillows and sheets and eagerly pulled Harry down on top of him, adoring the line of their bodies and the warmth of Harry smothering him. His arousal spiked, forgetting their conversation about Harry's life in Gryffindor and choosing to think only about this.

Somewhere in Draco's mind, he told himself for the thousandth time that this was wrong. That every second more he spent with Harry would make the heartache that much more painful. But his warnings were useless as Harry kissed them away.

"Make me forget," he begged Harry in a desperate whisper, arching into the man.

Harry ripped the towel off himself and Draco's eyes fastened on his erection, hungry for it. Harry settled between his legs and the contact of skin on skin was exquisite. Draco grabbed Harry by the hair at his nape and pulled him down forcefully, crushing their lips together. His fingers tightened.

Harry must have sensed Draco's desperation. He rocked his body hard, grinding downward, causing stars to explode behind Draco's eyelids. "God, yes, Harry … don't stop."

Their breaths sped up, their muscles tensed, and every single shred of energy was put towards making what they were feeling phenomenal. Draco had no doubt that nothing on earth could ever feel this amazing.

Harry brought one of his hands to Draco's mouth and stuck out two fingers. Draco didn't hesitate and pulled them between his lips, covering them with his saliva. He sucked hard and saw Harry's jaw clench, as if very little was keeping him from absolutely devouring Draco. His resistance hung by a single thread. Draco decided he loved this and sucked all the harder, running his tongue all around Harry's two fingers, while keeping his smiling eyes locked on Harry, silently inviting him to do whatever he wanted with him.

"Enough," Harry breathed. "You minx … you'll be the death of me."

"Never," Draco crooned, releasing Harry's fingers with a final kiss. He smiled. "What do you plan to do with those fingers?"

"Why don't I just show you?" Harry said smoothly, brushing his saliva-soaked fingers against Draco's entrance and dipping one in quickly before taking it out again. The feather-soft touches were making Draco struggle to breathe.

He gasped and bit his lip briefly. "Hurry, please." He spread his legs further.

Harry laughed deeply. "Being teased isn't so fun, is it?"

"Harry …" Draco whined. The two wet fingers slipped inside much easier than the day before, partly because of yesterday's activities, and party because Draco was literally forcing his body open for Harry, so eager for it. "If you don't hurry up, so help me God, I will … _ohhhhh_." His voice drowned out in a long moan of pleasure at Harry's dextrous fingers stretching him open.

"You'll what?" Harry prodded, smirking as he stared down at Draco's arched neck and half-closed eyes.

Draco decided he didn't have the patience to answer. At least not verbally. He reached for Harry's hardened length with one hand, swatted Harry's hand away with the other, and guided the man into position between his legs. "In. Now," he ordered.

Harry's grin put the sun to shame. "Bossy little bastard, aren't you?"

"Don't tell me you don't want it," Draco challenged.

In the next heartbeat, Draco found himself filled to the brim with Harry with one brutal thrust forward.

"Oh, yes," he let out, half sigh, half moan. But he was given no time to get used to Harry's length, before Harry began moving. Hard and fast. Draco was well and truly pinned to the bed and he decided he absolutely loved it. The sight of Harry's face above him, panting, flushed and focused only of giving Draco the ultimate pleasure, sent shudders through his body. His toes curled from it all.

"I love you," Harry groaned in his ear.

Draco crossed his ankles behind Harry's back and felt his heart swell. "I love you too."

Harry bent his neck for a punishing kiss, while his hips continued slamming into Draco's. Their tongues and lips sought each other desperately, as if they both realised how fleeting this moment was. Like they were trying to pour out every ounce of their passion for one another, for fear that they never get the chance to again.

But Draco knew he could never let this go. He couldn't let this be the last time with Harry. The man was like his drug. He just couldn't say no. Every moment with him was stimulating. Being loved by him was intoxicating.

"Draco …" Harry groaned, the tendons and veins in his neck straining and flushed red. They locked eyes and Draco became overwhelmed with the fire in Harry's.

Suddenly, Draco's climax was upon him. He writhed and arched and squirmed under Harry, mouth open and gasping Harry's name out loud. His fingers curled painfully into Harry's arms.

"Merlin, the sight of you … when you come …" Harry breathed hard "… Could watch you all day …" His hips kept pumping, his arms were tensed hard. Draco could feel the final threads of pleasure sending his nerves alight. He clamped down hard on Harry and saw the man's eye's roll upward. He groaned loudly. And then, Draco both saw and felt Harry's own climax; watched his whole body shudder and contract, and felt the rush of warmth inside him. He couldn't help but let out a small whimper of satisfaction.

Breathing heavily, it took a long moment before either of them spoke. But even then, Draco didn't relinquish his hold on Harry, and Harry hadn't slipped free of him yet.

"Come back with me," Harry whispered with a gentle kiss.

"I have no place there."

"Your place is with me," Harry countered. "Please, Draco, I can't have you so far away again. I almost died these past two months."

Draco kissed him. "Harry, you know I love you. I _want_ to be next to you, always." He sighed and played with Harry's hair softly. "But we're about to fight a war. You're already my father's worst enemy. What would happen if I leave with you?"

"I don't care about that," Harry said rashly.

Draco smiled. "Typical," he teased, while running a hand down Harry's rough jaw. "Always so impulsive. You always act without thinking. It's good I'm around to keep you grounded."

A childish grin came across Harry and he rocked forward softly as a reminder to their yet unbroken and intimate connection. "Yes, I quite like how _grounded_ I am."

Draco laughed and hit him. "Prat."

"_King_," Harry corrected with a wink.

Draco bit his lip. Oh, he liked that. He liked that a lot. But he wouldn't say it out loud lest it got to Harry's head. His ego was big enough as it was. "Are you going to get off me?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry said simply. Draco laughed shortly. "You're comfortable," Harry added by way of explanation, as if that was enough of a reason.

"And you're heavy," Draco responded with a smirk.

Harry pushed himself up on his arms, but kept their lower halves together. From his position, Draco had an uninterrupted view of Harry's magnificent body. He swore he almost swooned. "Better?" Harry asked.

"How do you have the strength to do that? I'm completely exhausted."

Draco realised belatedly how much, contrary to what he wanted, that last line would boost Harry's ego. He rolled his eyes when Harry's eyes lit up and his mouth curved into a self-satisfied grin. "I'm sorry I wore you out," Harry said smugly.

"No, you're not," Draco said dryly.

"No, I'm not," Harry agreed.

Draco suddenly felt Harry's softened length twitch inside him, apparently interested again.

"Oh no, you don't. Not again. Off," Draco ordered.

Harry sighed but obeyed. "There you go again. Bossy." He pulled his awakening self out of Draco and lay face-up beside him, draping an arm across his eyes.

Draco frowned at Harry's action. "Are you alright?" he asked, feeling a twinge of guilt for rejecting Harry. But to be fair, he really was tired!

"Yeah, just …" He pulled his arm away and gave Draco an amused look. "Trying to calm myself down."

"Oh."

Harry rubbed his eyes with his hand. "But looking at your naked body is doing nothing to help, so I'm looking away."

Draco felt himself flush, and found that a part of him was very satisfied by Harry's reason.

He heard a small bell from his outer chamber ring.

"What's that?" Harry asked, looking up.

"A messenger is at my door," Draco explained, standing up on the side of the bed. "I'll go see what it is. You just …" he grinned, casting his eyes down to Harry's rising length "… take your time calming down."

"Draco, how on earth do you expect me to do that when you're on complete display?" Harry groaned, dropping his head backward on the pillow. "Put some bloody clothes on, you tease."

Draco laughed. "Alright, alright." He bent down to retrieve the robe Harry had taken off him, sliding it back on. He tried not to grin happily at Harry's current predicament all the way out to the door.

"Yes?" he asked, opening his door and seeing a young runner boy standing on his step.

"A message from His Majesty, the King, my lord," the boy said.

All light-heartedness fled Draco. He straightened his spine. "What?"

"He requests to see the Prince in the Throne room, immediately."

Draco's mind began firing questions—_What __did __he __want? __Did __he __already __know __about __Harry? __Did __he __want __to __question __Draco?_—but he forced himself to act unconcerned. He nodded. "Leave."

The boy scampered off and Draco shut the door.

He returned to the bedchamber to see Harry had just donned his breeches and a serious look on his face. The humour had abandoned him too. "What now?" he asked, eyebrows dipping low.

"My father wants to see me," Draco announced gravely.

Harry nodded, as if he had been expecting this.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. It was only after it had passed that Draco realised there was only one thing he could say. "Harry," he began, "Don't be here when I come back."

Harry looked shocked. "What?"

"I have to go to my father. When I return, please be gone."

He shook his head slowly, eyes locked on Draco. "No," he responded. "No. I won't."

"You must."

"Not again, Draco. I told you, I can't—"

"Harry." Draco stepped up to him and held his face in his hands. "Listen to me. This war could begin any day now. You need to leave and get ready, and I need to do everything I can to make sure no one knew you were here."

"But—"

"You're already the most wanted man in the world. Let me do what little I can to protect you."

"No, let _me_ protect _you_," Harry replied in frustration.

"If I leave with you now, my father will find out—"

"I don't care! Don't you get it? I. Don't. Care. I love you, Draco. I … would do anything for you. I want you out of here and safe, where I can protect you. And I can't do that if you stay here. Merlin, just the _thought_ of being so far from you again is killing me."

Draco closed his eyes for a brief moment, wishing Harry would stop saying those things. "Look, my father expects me to be in the Throne room right now. If I'm not there, he'll send soldiers to search my room. You need to be gone." Draco stressed the last pointedly. He tried another tactic. "I love you too, you know. It's not fair for you to do all the protecting. You've put your life on the line for me countless times. You've saved my life. Now let me save yours."

"I can't leave you again." There was heavy emotion in his voice.

Draco felt the tears imminent in his eyes too but he forced them back. He knew if he started crying Harry would never leave. He needed to stay strong. "You have to. And this time, _I_ promise _you_ that I'll see you again. And soon."

Harry didn't say anything. It seemed the fight was sucked out of him. Draco took the time to move away and dress himself. All the while Harry was silent, watching him.

When Draco was dressed, he turned back to Harry and restated his promise. "I _will_ see you soon, Harry. For now, go back home."

Harry took three long strides towards Draco and pushed him back into the wall, latching their mouths together passionately. Draco whimpered and let him do what he wanted; let Harry kiss his very soul away. Harry pressed closer still, their heads danced intimately, Harry's hands held onto Draco tightly, embracing him with desperation and possessiveness.

When at last Harry pulled away, his face was full of sorrow. "Don't you _dare_ break that promise. You hear me? If I don't see you I will scour this whole earth until I have you in my arms again. You mean too much to me. It's destroying me to leave you."

"I know," Draco whispered.

"When I win this war, nothing will stand between the two of us. Not Voldemort, not Ginny, not any stupid traditions, _nothing._ Just you and me."

Draco smiled through his misery. "I believe that."

Harry finally stepped away with a nod. He let out a long and burdensome sigh, looking suddenly weary and empty. "You should go then."

Draco kissed him lightly. "Remember the promise," he whispered. "I love you." Without giving himself enough time to second-guess himself, he walked to and out the door, leaving his chambers.

This time, it was he that was walking away from Harry. When he knew Harry could no longer see or hear him, he finally let his tears fall.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: The secret's out as Ginny confronts Harry, while plans for the war kick into gear. We're getting close to the end, guys!_


	41. Charades

_A/N: I'm sorry this took a little longer to post! I was away for a few days. Thank you heaps for all your reviews. Every single one of them is wonderful._

_Hope you enjoy this chapter, because as I said last time, we're getting very close to the end!_ =(

-mp-

Chapter 40

**Charades**

The return journey took twice as long. Harry knew it was because all the fight had left him. Heart heavy, he couldn't believe he was doing this again; running _away_ from Draco, when all he wanted was to run _to_ him. It was a cruel, cruel thing to be separated from his lover twice in one lifetime.

Despite his slow pace, he eventually found himself guiding his horse in Gryffindor's stables.

"Harry?" someone called to him through the early dawn mist that had settled over Gryffindor. He slid off his horse, wincing at his aching legs, and tied the reigns to a post nearby. He turned and saw Hermione staring at him like he was an alien, eyes wide and alert, mouth fallen slightly open.

"You're back!" she blurted, her exclamation stirring the cold near her mouth.

Harry forced a smile on his face. "Yep," he sighed. "How are you?"

The Princess couldn't stop staring at him. She was unblinking. Harry began to feel like some kind of odd specimen. Eventually, she seemed to shake out of her shocked reverie and advance towards him, the expression on her face now inexplicably angry.

Harry was about to question her, when she spoke. "Why on earth did you leave?" she asked shortly. Her voice was stern, and Harry felt a little annoyed.

"I had to," he answered. "Something I needed to do."

"Where do you go?" she fired.

Harry frowned. "Why do you want to know?" he asked cautiously.

She looked at him incredulously, unable to believe he'd ask such a question. "_Why?_" she echoed. "Maybe because we're about to fight a war? Maybe because we all need you here? Maybe because you just found out your wife was _pregnant_? Are any of those good reasons?"

Harry's face shut down and left him a hardened, emotionless shell. "Hermione, it's not your concern," he said with a dead voice. Right now, he didn't want to think about the pregnancy.

"Yes it is!" She hit him. "You can't just _leave_! This whole kingdom is riding on your actions, and leaving without telling anyone is a selfish thing to do. Harry, you don't think! You just act without thinking!"

That cut him. Because it was exactly what Draco had said to him not three days ago. The hole in his heart expanded. Every part of him ached. Suddenly, it literally felt like all the weight of the world was placed on his shoulders, and all he wanted to do was be in Draco's arms again. He felt bereft and hollow. Heavy emotions took over him.

Hermione must have noticed and she held back any other retort that would have fled her mouth. After a moment, she ventured, "Are you alrig—?"

"I'm fine," he answered before she could finish. His voice wavered.

"Harry," she said in a suddenly much softer voice. "Where did you go?"

He looked up at her and saw concern written across her face and in her eyes. He was sure the look in his own eyes conveyed the extent of his misery well. "Nowhere," was all he could say. As much as he wanted the whole world to know his true feelings, Draco was still his secret.

"Harry … you can tell me."

The way she said this made Harry pause. Her tone was knowing. As if she somehow knew the truth, but didn't want to say it. She came closer and laid a soft hand on his shoulder.

When it became clear Harry would say nothing, she said, "When you're ready, you know I'll listen. You can't hide everything in your heart."

Harry then realised that somehow, she knew. But again, he kept his mouth closed, scared he would say something he'd later regret.

"You should go see Ginny," she advised.

Harry's stomach flipped but he knew she was right. "Yeah … I should."

"She's an understanding woman, Harry. Just talk to her. As her husband, you have a duty to be completely honest with her."

He looked at her and saw in her eyes wisdom and acceptance. He blurted, "You know."

"Know what?"

Harry shook his head and closed up to Hermione, suddenly frightened for Draco. If their secret came out, it would mean death. Harry knew he couldn't live with himself then.

Eventually, Hermione nodded in the silence. "I think I know," she confessed. Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. Behind his lids, he saw Draco.

"You went back to Slytherin, didn't you?" she asked.

He couldn't bring himself to reply, but his lack of response might as well have been a resounding _yes_. The misery he felt morphed into fear. Now that she knew, his life was over. What would happen to him? To Draco? To Ginny? He was the bloody _King_, for God's sake, married to the woman pregnant with his child … and he was in love with the enemy's Prince. Harry would have preferred their conversation ended here.

Hermione swallowed and let out a soft breath. "Harry—"

"Don't."

She bit her lip to stop her next words.

Harry gritted his teeth. "If you want to hate me, then hate me. If you want to spit in my face, then do it. Just don't say anything."

She frowned. "Hate you? Why would I hate you?"

He looked up at her slowly. "Because I'm a horrible person."

"Because you have feeling for someone else?"

A short, laugh-less snort escaped Harry. "That _someone __else_ isn't just a random stranger, Hermione."

"It doesn't matter who it is."

"Oh, I think it does," Harry drawled. Draco was his enemy's son; Harry figured that mattered quite a lot. "Not the least because I'm already married."

Hermione looked down at her hands. Harry could tell her mind was frantically working, trying to understanding Harry's motives. "Then … why did you leave? If you know it's impossible, then why—"

"Why do you continue your relationship with Ron? It's because you love each other."

"You … you love … him?" she asked, pausing before the first real mention of Draco's gender. Harry supposed it was hard for her to say that.

"More than life."

Hermione's eyebrows lifted a fraction, clearly surprised by the vehemence in Harry's answer. She was probably expecting Harry's infatuation of Draco to be a passing desire; a novel experience for him, but one that would wear away. Certainly not the intimate commitment they had made to each other.

"And yet you married Ginny." Her voice was almost a whisper.

Harry snorted. "Only because this entire bloody kingdom wanted me to have an heir," he responded darkly, feeling familiar feelings of resentment rise up in him. "Ginny's a wonderful woman. But I don't love her."

She closed her eyes and breathed out, shaking her head. "Oh, Harry." Harry was surprised to see a tear fall down her face. "The worst thing about this all is that I know exactly how you feel."

Harry exhaled and nodded sadly. She was talking about Ron.

She went on. "I love him so much. And I know he loves me. But … what can we do about it? I can't marry him. I can't spend my life with him. I hate not telling anyone about us."

Harry rubbed his eyes, his exhaustion from his long journey catching up with him. "Maybe … rules were meant to be broken."

"What?"

He shook his head, realising he didn't want to raise her hopes when his own were dwindling. "Nothing," he muttered sadly. "But for what it's worth, I fully support your relationship with Ron." He gave her a small smile, which she returned sadly. But after a handful of seconds, his brief smile slid straight off his face. "I should speak to Ginny."

She nodded knowingly. "She's at the house."

"She awake?" he asked. It was early morning, after all.

"She barely sleeps. Waiting for you."

Again, guilt stabbed him and he hung his head. "I'll see you later."

"Good luck."

Harry wanted to laugh at that. Lately, luck was never on his side. He left Hermione and made the short walk to their house, feeling despondence and apprehension grow with every step closer. What was he supposed to say to her? Considering the note on which he had left her a few days ago, he would wager Ginny didn't even want to look at his face.

She was awake, as Hermione said, sitting at the table, idly stroking her stomach. She was turned away from Harry, so he had a few moments to collect his thoughts, watching her silently pondering her situation.

"Ginny," he said in a soft voice.

She spun and her eyes popped wide. For a moment, the look on her face was of complete shock. Then it morphed into half confusion, half anger. "How … What are you doing here?"

Harry shrugged, not expecting that. "I came back."

"Why?"

Again, he was caught by surprise at her question. "I just … I'm here," he said stupidly. "I'm needed here."

She stood up and Harry's eyes instinctively went to her stomach, which was, of course, not showing. Even still, the knowledge of his unborn child right there made his heart skip a beat. A part deep inside him was happy at the prospect. He was going to be a father—that was enough to make any man happy. But another part of him was swamped in uneasiness; the part that could only see the immediate consequences a baby might bring.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Okay. A little tired."

Harry tried to judge her emotions but she kept her face mostly blank. "Hermione said you're not sleeping."

She shrugged. "It's hard to."

"You should rest, Ginny. Especially in your …" _condition_, he added silently.

She didn't respond to that. Instead, with a slight narrowing of her eyes, she asked, "Where did you go?"

His lungs suddenly felt locked. "It doesn't matter. I'm back now."

"I think it matters," she murmured.

Harry closed his eyes, wondering if Ginny, like Hermione, knew as well. It wouldn't surprise him—women had this sort of intuition.

"Harry …" Ginny breathed, sounding suddenly tired, "I'm not stupid."

"I don't think you are."

"Then why do you think you can hide the truth from me?"

Fear seized his heart.

She ran a weary hand through her long red hair. "You don't love me. You love someone else. That's where you went." She looked at him and met his eyes. "Am I right?"

He could have denied it and responded passively, but Harry knew she deserved more than that. For all she had been through at his hand, Ginny deserved more. "Yes."

She nodded shortly and looked away.

"I'm so sorry, Ginny," he whispered. "If I could change anything …"

"Don't say anything. Just don't." She shook her head. "You know, two minutes ago I was so angry with you. I've been furious over the past few days. But now … I just … I'm just tired. I'm over it. I'm over wondering about you; where you are; who you're with. I don't want it anymore. I'm not cut out for this. You're the King of Gryffindor; I …" she shook her head "… I don't want to be your Queen. Not anymore."

Harry searched her face sincerely.

Ginny sighed. "Look, you made it clear from day one that you didn't love me. You were forced into this marriage."

"So were you. I'm sorry I'm not the husband you deserve."

She exhaled a quick breath—it sounded almost like a dead laugh. "No, you're a terrible husband." He hung his head. "But," she continued, rubbing her stomach, "I guess you're still the father of this baby."

He gave her a questioning look.

She gave him a sad but firm look. "I'm not about to deprive my child of one of his or her parents. Especially considering this entire kingdom depends on it." She paused to consider her words. "Look, I can't be with you, Harry. I'm not the partner you want at your side, and after the secrets you've kept from me I don't want you either." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "But this baby is your heir. And when it's born, it will still be your child. I won't keep him or her from you."

Harry felt an overwhelming mixture of misery, shame, guilt, relief and a small bit of hope. He was entirely lost for words. So he just stood there, waiting for Ginny to continue.

Ginny turned and picked up a bag. Harry hadn't noticed it before then, but he realised it had all her clothes in it. She must have been planning to leave for at least a day or two. "I hope … I hope your plans work out," she said, shrugging the bag over her shoulder.

He didn't have to ask her what she meant. He knew she was referring to the fact that he was in love with the Prince of Slytherin. All he could say was, "I'm sorry, Gin."

"I am too. But the two of us are meant for completely different lives."

He nodded sadly. "Thank you for giving me this gift," he said, thinking of his unborn baby. "It's more than I could hope for."

She nodded, agreeing. A long moment passed. "I should go," she said eventually.

"Where?"

"To my mother's. I don't really want to stay here anymore."

"You can, you know," he offered.

She shook her head. "No, Harry. It's over now."

He nodded sombrely and watched her leave.

When the door closed behind her, he let out a massive sigh and collapsed on his bed, truly, utterly exhausted.

-mp-

The following day, Harry began to prepare his people for war. He wasted no time, knowing that Voldemort had already amassed legions of soldiers and was ready to destroy him. After the initial shock of his return faded, he recruited Ron, Shacklebolt, several other commanders and, to his disgruntlement, Snape, to help him order and number his troops, assigning them into factions.

It wasn't easy, especially when the mood in the town was apprehensive and subdued, but Harry knew it had to be done. For within a week, they would be facing the mighty armies of Voldemort.

All the while, he thought of Draco. And remembered his promise.

-mp-

"Are the troops ready?" the King asked in a dark, unnatural voice. Almost as if it wasn't his own.

"Yes, my Lord," the Captain standing at attention before the Throne reported. "Final preparations are being put in place as we speak. They will be ready to march by dawn."

"What news of the north?"

"The armies of Gryffindor are preparing also. I predict this war will commence very soon."

"Excellent."

Draco watched this with a foreboding deep in his heart. A sense of desperation and panic overcame him. It was as if he was riding a wild horse with no means to stop and control it. How was he supposed to say or do anything? He couldn't; not without condemning himself to death. But he also didn't know how he was supposed to sit back and watch a war erupting between his father and his lover. More than anything, he wanted a way to stop it.

"They stand no chance, my lord. Even with the armies of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as their allies, we still outnumber them ten to one. This will be a very easy and clean victory, my King."

Draco gripped his chair hard with white fingers—the only outward sign of his horror.

The King nodded slowly, a show of satisfaction on his face. "And what do you know of this leader of theirs, Harry Potter?"

Draco barely resisted turning his head swiftly and shooting his eyes wide open.

"Not much, my lord. In fact, very little is known by anyone. It is almost as if he sprung up out of nowhere. There are no reports of him being King before news of this war reached us."

"He barely sounds like a King," Draco's father sneered with derision on his face. "Still, he must die. We cannot let him live. In fact …" the King paused and thought for a moment "… leave him to me. Spread the word, no other man must fight this Potter except me. He will die at my sword."

_No__…_ Draco gasped in his mind. This couldn't get any worse. His own _father_ would kill Harry? The effort to keep a stoic face was nearly impossible.

"As you wish, my lord."

"Leave now."

The captain bowed his head in respect and strode out the door.

"All of you," the King now said, pointing at the guards stationed around the Throne Room, "leave us. I wish to speak with my son alone."

Draco's eyes widened, but he could do nothing else except watch the guards exit, feeling trapped in only the company of his father. He was terrified.

"Yes, father?"

"You've been very quiet lately, Draco. Why is this?"

"I'm not," he replied quickly. "I've just been … thinking about this war."

"Oh? And what are your thoughts?" The King's voice spoke with patronisation, as if he was merely playing along with Draco's bluff.

"Like you always say father, it will be good for the Empire. If we win—"

"_When_ we win," the King corrected.

Draco almost slapped himself at his slip. "_When_ we win, it will be all the proof the world needs to know of Slytherin's domination."

The King nodded in thought, and Draco would have cut of his arm to know what was on his mind. "Yes, indeed, Slytherin will be victorious. I should, however, tell you …" (Draco felt fear seize his every nerve at the absolute chill in his father's tone) "…that more than Slytherin, one man stands to gain the most."

Draco frowned. "Father?"

"There is one person for whom all of this is being done," the King said in an almost reverent tone, his eyes closing briefly. "And when we win, all the victory shall be _his_."

Draco would have thought his father was talking about himself, but no, something was different. The way his father said this; it was like he was talking about some sort of god.

"Slytherin will march under a different banner this time, my son."

"Whose?"

The King paused and caught Draco's gaze. Draco almost gasped at what he saw; fearful of what was happening to the man before him. The King looked possessed.

"The Dark Lord's," was his hissed answer.

Draco felt chills saturate his body. At first, he had no idea who this was. But then he remembered the name Harry had told him about. _Voldemort_. Could that be the Dark Lord? A look into his father's fanatical eyes confirmed it. The King's face was awash in reverence of the evil name.

This Voldemort was the Dark Lord. Voldemort, who had murdered Harry's parents and sworn to destroy Harry as well once he had served his purpose. He was pure evil incarnate and the most terrifying thing anyone in this age had seen.

And suddenly, the reality of it all hit Draco. His own father had allied himself with Voldemort, the Dark Lord of all evil, and they both wanted Draco's lover dead.

Everything Harry said had been right. And Draco was trapped in the midst of it all.

"The Dark Lord now has full command of Slytherin, Draco. He is the rightful ruler."

Trembling inside, Draco forced himself to lie, "Yes, father."

It had to be a lie. Draco's whole life here was now a façade.

Because he had made his ultimate decision. There was no way he could side with his father.

He was now, well and truly, completely Harry's. And all his loyalties lay with the Gryffindor King.

He released a small breath and stared into the face of his once father, made enemy.

Now, it was just a matter of keeping himself alive long enough to get back to Harry.

"I'm so pleased that I have your utmost loyalty, my son," the King said.

Draco forced a small smile. "I'm pleased to grant it to you." Draco stood up and bowed his head. "Now if you will excuse me, my lord, I must retire."

"Of course."

Draco moved as quickly as possible without appearing hurried towards the doors. But just as he was about to leave, his father spoke once more. "Oh, Draco?"

He turned on limbs of lead. "Yes?"

"Pack your things. We march tomorrow."

Draco nodded respectfully. "Of course, father. I will ready my things at once."

It wasn't until he reached the privacy of his room that Draco released the breath he'd been holding. He closed his eyes and began to inhale air heavily, thinking of Harry, thinking of himself, and thinking how on earth they were going to get out of this one.

The odds weren't in their favour.

-mp-

_"__The __boy__'__s __loyalties __do __not __lie __with __you.__"_

"I sensed not," the King spoke.

_ "He has feelings for Potter. And Potter, for he."_

Lucius sneered. "Disgusting. How I fathered such a whore, I do not know. But he is not mine now. He is the enemy."

_ "But he mustn't know it. Continue this charade just as he is continuing his. But have him guarded at all times, lest he escape."_

"Yes, my Lord."

_ "And when we meet Potter on the battlefield, you will have the perfect bait. Potter would do anything to save his beloved Prince … even sacrifice the Red Sword. Your bitch of a son finally shows some use."_

Lucius grinned. "As you wish, my Lord.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: The day of the war is upon them and Harry realises he's being blackmailed with Draco's life. _


	42. A Good Day For War

_A/N: Reasons why you might not like me: this chapter took me ages to be uploaded. In my defense, I was cruelly separated from my computer for the week._

_Reasons why you might forgive me: Considering it's Christmas, I'm posting up the next two chapters in one hit!_

_Enjoy and merry Christmas!_

-mp-

Chapter 41

**A Good Day For War**

The sky that morning was red—a perfect day for killing.

Harry left his tent just as the sun was rising and fixed his eyes on the crimson horizon of the Nullius and the looming trees of the Dark Forest hugging their encampment to the east.

Not too far away, an army the size of which no man had ever seen was waiting for him. Waiting to kill him.

And with that army was Draco, trapped. The mere thought of it made his heart ache. Harry could take on a hundred enemy soldiers, be beaten and bruised and broken, be dragged to the very brink of death—all of this, Harry could do. _But if Draco died …_

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn't think like that. Hopefully, Draco would be left behind in Slytherin, away from the battle where it was safer.

He sighed and took a long look around him, at the hundreds of tents that surrounded him. For three days now they had set up their temporary encampment in the northernmost corner of the Nullius, mere kilometres away from the battlefront. All the children and most of the women had remained in Gryffindor. The few females with them were there purely to ensure the men were kept fed. Harry knew he needed to order their return home. War was a man's domain.

Another large sigh escaped him. The burden on his shoulders was enormous.

"I hope you're not getting cold feet."

Harry turned and saw Remus shrugging on a jacket to ward off the early morning chill.

"No. I was just … thinking."

Remus nodded absently and came beside Harry. "How are you?"

Harry gave him a side-ways look. "Considering this might be my final sunrise, I'm okay."

Remus nudged him. "Don't speak like that. You're not the best warrior of this age for nothing. You won't die. I know it in my heart."

Harry sighed. "We'll see," he said somberly.

"Harry from the moment I saw you as a little baby, I knew great things would come of you. I've watched you grow and seen you become the man you are today and I …" Remus paused and gave him a loving look "… I'm so proud of you. I know you never knew your father, but if he were here—"

"Remus, you're like my father," Harry replied, giving the man a heart-felt smile. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For raising me."

"It was all my pleasure. You truly are the son I never had."

Harry placed a supportive hand on Remus' shoulder and cast a deliberate look in the direction of Remus' tent, which he and Sirius shared. "From the looks of it, I'm the son you were never going to have anyway," he said knowingly.

Remus' cheeks and neck went red and he looked back at the tent as well, taking a moment to ponder his next words. "There hasn't been much time since Azkaban to talk to you about that."

Harry grinned a little. "You _did_ have twenty years prior to that, you know."

Remus looked guilty. "I was never going to tell you. For all that time, I thought Sirius was guilty. I thought he was dead. Why would I tell anyone?"

"But Remus, he's such a huge part of your life." Harry stopped and suddenly realised he could be having this very conversation with himself. "Did you … did you think I would judge you?" he asked, wanting to know Remus' answer, wanting to know if others would judge _him_ for loving Draco.

Remus didn't say anything and a handful of seconds trickled by them. "Yes," he said eventually. "I thought you would think I was a disappointment. It's … different. It's not normal."

"It's different, yes. But that doesn't make it abnormal. If it's what makes you happy, then how can that be wrong?"

"Not everything thinks that way."

"Damn everyone else."

Remus blinked at Harry's firm reply. "It's not that easy. We live in this world; we can't just escape it. Sirius and I love each other, but that means we're always going to get looks. There will be people who look down on us for choosing this life; who think we're unnatural."

"It's not fair." Harry shook his head. "It shouldn't be like that."

Remus gently laid a hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Harry said, on guard.

"You're so worked up about this. Don't get me wrong, I'm so relieved you don't mind about Sirius and I, but I know you. You only get this upset when something is personally affecting you. You're not telling me something."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his wayward hair. "It _is_ personally affecting me."

"How so?"

Harry looked into the eyes of his mentor and saw concern and love there. With every passing day, it was getting harder and harder to keep his secret. It was such a huge part of his life and he was getting tired of his façade. He knew he could say the truth to Remus. Of all people, he would understand. "Because I'm like you."

For a moment, Remus didn't make any sort of response. What Harry had just said didn't seem to register. Then, slowly, his lips separated in shock and his eyebrows lifted up as he understood Harry's meaning. Harry was almost tempted to chuckle as realisation dawned. "You?" Remus' voice caught.

He nodded and lifted one corner of his mouth. "That's not half of it."

"What?"

"I … I'm in love with the Prince of Slytherin."

Remus' face descended further into shock – and remained that way for a good half minute. Then it took on a hint of scepticism, as if a part of him was wondering if Harry was merely pulling his leg. Harry schooled his features into complete sincerity so that Remus would know he wasn't lying. But still, with every silent second, he began to worry. Should he not have said that? He probably shouldn't have mentioned anything about Draco at this stage, but keeping it a secret from someone so close and so alike him didn't seem necessary. Clearly, he'd been wrong. Perhaps he should have told Remus in two lots.

Harry laughed nervously. "Now would be a good time to speak," he advised.

Remus' mouth closed—finally—but his expression was still of utter bewilderment. "I don't even …" He trailed off and began again. "This is …"

"I know."

"Harry, are you sure?"

Harry smiled bemusedly. "Am I sure? Remus, of course I'm sure. What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know, I just … I don't know what else to say. This is that last thing I would expect."

"I know," Harry said again.

"When? How?"

"When I was his bodyguard back in Slytherin." Harry shrugged. "It took a while—I hated the sight of him at first—but we eventually realised that we …" He shrugged again and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I know it's unexpected but … I honestly love him, Remus. That's where I went last week. Back to see him."

Remus's eyes popped. "You went to _Slytherin_?"

"I had to. I missed him."

Remus expelled a large breath. "You _do_ realise we're about to fight a war against him?"

"Against _Voldemort_," Harry corrected. "Not Draco. He's innocent. He knows the truth and he's on our side."

A new thought occurred to Remus. "And Ginny?"

Harry winced. "She knows."

"And?"

"We've agreed to separate."

Remus' mouth opened and closed for a moment, fish-like, as if trying to decide what else he could ask. Then he blurted, "I'm completely shocked." But the look on his face was of pleasant surprise, not of aversion, and Harry let himself relax a little.

He laughed, realising his nerves. "I can tell."

"Who else have you told?"

"Just you, Ginny, the Professor and Hermione. Well, to be honest, the girls figured it out."

"Ron doesn't know?"

"No. And I don't know how to tell him. He'll be crushed for Ginny." Harry's brief good mood evaporated. "I'm going to upset so many people but … I can't help who I love. And I do, Remus, I'm completely in love with Draco."

Remus nodded wordlessly, his eyes still open wide.

"It's killing me that he's so far away, and in so much danger." Harry dropped his shoulders. "I don't know what to do."

Remus, who managed to reign in at least some of his shock, stepped close and placed an arm across Harry's shoulders supportively. "I realise there are many things going on in your mind. But there's only one thing you need to focus on now." Harry looked up. "The war. That's your first priority, especially because you've got a lot more to risk now."

"I know. I just can't get him off my mind."

"Then … do it for him."

"I will," Harry answered adamantly. "I won't stop until he's safe." He said nothing for a moment. Then, "I'm sorry for dropping this all on you today, of all days."

Remus smiled. "Your timing is impeccable. But I'm glad you told me. _I'm_ the one who's sorry for _not_ telling you about Sirius."

Harry smiled in return. "I'm happy for you. Really. From the little I know of Sirius, he's perfect for you."

Remus kissed his forehead. "Thank you. And I can't wait to meet Draco. For someone to have captured your heart, he must be something special."

"He is."

"Come on then," Remus nudged gently. "Let's grab some breakfast. We're going to need it for what's ahead."

Harry gave him a grim look but agreed and followed him.

-mp-

By the sun's position, Harry guessed it was close to eight in the morning.

_Not long left_, he thought to himself. By midday, he should have his army in position, just as he knew Lucius would have his troops ready.

He called together his captains and leaders and laid a map of the Nullius on a large table before them all.

"Our armies will meet here in just a few short hours." Harry stabbed one of his daggers in the centre of the map, indicating the place. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Empire's already waiting for us. With the Forest just to the right it's perfect positioning. We'll set up infantry in flanks along the front here, archers behind them, cavalry along the sides. I'll also have one legion close to the trees here, in case the bastard has any surprises for us there and one near the Lake.

"Now remember," Harry said, locking eyes with each of the men there—among them Ron, Remus, Seamus, Shacklebolt, Snape, Ron's father and brothers and the Professor—men he trusted with his life, "_All Voldemort wants_ is the Red Sword. If there's any way to avoid bloodshed, I'll take it. If I can get the Sword and defeat him, we can end this war before it begins. Without Voldemort, his army's got no leader. I want as little people dead as possible."

They all nodded gravely.

"We'll be ready with the army while you're in the Forest," Ron said with a strong voice. "Just in case, mate."

"What happens if you don't kill him with the Sword, Harry?" Seamus asked. "Then do we fight?"

Harry caught Seamus' gaze. "If I don't kill him with the Sword, then all hell breaks loose. Let's pray it doesn't go there. But I want you to know that as long as I've still got breath in my body, I won't let you down. That's my promise."

A long silence passed and Harry could feel the weight of all their stares on him, trusting him to be their saviour. They all knew they stood no chance if he failed. Never before had Harry felt so responsible.

"Right," Harry spoke up, "Time to go. Spread the orders. Leave everything you don't need behind. Assemble the men into their ranks. Tell any remaining woman to return to Gryffindor. This is no place for them now. In four hours, we've got a date with death."

All but Ron left the tent.

When they were alone, Ron walked up to Harry and they clasped hands tightly, as brothers would.

"You know, I'll admit I had my doubts about you being this great King when I first heard it, but now … I mean, bloody hell, it's only been three months since this whole thing began and look at all these people who are willing to fight for you. You're a brilliant leader. I've got your back, Harry."

This time, the muscles around Harry's mouth twitched. "Thanks, mate. You're a loyal friend. I could never have done this without you."

"The Professor wanted me to give you this," Ron said, reaching his other hand forward and displaying a folded piece of material the colour of darkened blood.

Harry looked at it quizzically. "What is it?"

"Have a look."

Harry took the red cloth and let it unfold. It was a flag. And in the centre of it was an emblem of a fierce golden lion, perched on its two hind legs. It took Harry a moment to realise what it represented.

"Gryffindor," Harry murmured, as a feeling of pride and allegiance rushed through him. This was, after all, his Kingdom.

"Now, what do you say we go beat these Slytherin bastards into kingdom come?" Ron suggested.

Now, Harry smiled. "Let's."

-mp-

"My Lord? The Gryffindor army has assembled."

Draco's head whipped up. Assembled already? He didn't expect Harry to move so soon. He had thought he would wait at least a few more days.

"Excellent," the King murmured, half to himself. "Do the same," he ordered. "We wouldn't want to keep the King of Gryffindor waiting."

The soldier messenger bowed and left the tent.

In the silence that followed, the King took a deep breath loudly, as if he was smelling a particularly lovely flower. The look on his face was almost mocking. "It is a good day for war," he mused.

Draco barely resisted sneering in his direction. His father may have been taking all this nonchalantly, but Draco certainly wasn't. His heart was in his throat, thinking of the danger Harry was about to put himself in.

"Of course I don't expect you to fight, Draco," the King said. He locked his gaze onto Draco who felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. "You always were too … _girlish_ for that."

Draco blinked, taken aback. He was sure his father was meant to insult him by that. The look in the man's eyes was pure cunning. Draco didn't retaliate.

"But I expect you to be at my side when we meet this Potter in just a few short hours."

Draco could feel his muscles tense all over.

"You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

"Of course not," Draco replied immediately.

The King nodded slyly. "I am sure meeting the Gryffindor King will be … an enlightening experience for you. Wouldn't you agree?"

Chills danced on Draco's skin. He felt like he was a clear pool of water and the King could see right through him. He didn't know what his father was trying to get at. "If you say so."

"If only you were a warrior," the King said with a put-on long-suffering sigh. "If you were half the son I wanted you to be, I'd have you kill the man instead. Can you image that? Killing Harry Potter yourself? You would be the envy of all the Empire."

Draco felt sick and barely resisted reacting. Fighting to keep a neutral expression, he said, "I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment."

"Nonsense," he hissed—although Draco could hear the heavy sarcasm driving the word, "You're not a disappointment. In fact, I'm sure I can find a _very_ important use for you before this war is over."

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up. He didn't like the sound of that at all. "I can only hope so, father," he lied through a clenched jaw. He stood and bowed his head. "I must get ready."

"Of course."

Without looking back, Draco left. When he was alone in his own tent, he collapsed on the bed. "Harry …" he whispered desperately to the empty room, "stay safe. Please …"

Loneliness and despair swamped him. He had no idea what was about to happen today, but the evil gleam in his father's eyes and his all-knowing expression told Draco that the enemy they were facing would stop at nothing to see Harry killed.

What terrified Draco the most was that _he_ might be the bait.

A loud and low trumpet noise rang through the Slytherin camp, disturbing the restless quiet. It was the signal his father had ordered.

Immediately the men in the camp were roused. Sword belts were fastened, helmets were donned, horses were readied and the grim look of war settled on every soldier's face. Draco swallowed his fear and, dressed in his royal Slytherin regalia, let his servants lead him to his own horse.

Within half an hour they had left the camp and Draco found himself beside his the King, who was making final arrangements with his Battle Masters. Men scurried around them, forming their positions.

To Draco, it was all happening far too fast. His heart was pounding erratically. The sheer size of their army was overwhelming. He didn't want to imagine the size of Harry's.

Another horn blared. This one, the signal to march.

-mp-

The soldiers of the Gryffindor army had looked like tiny ants when Draco first saw them lining the horizon. At the fore of the mass were a handful of other men, one of them carrying a battle standard with a deep red flag flowed off it. As Slytherin advanced, Draco recognised the figure of a golden lion in the centre of it.

But what stole Draco's attention entirely was the sight of the Gryffindor King. Harry had always looked breath-taking in armour, but this was undeniably more incredible. The look on his face now was fierce, strong, impenetrable. There was not an ounce of fear or worry visible. The silver of his chainmail gleamed in the sun, covering his chest that was trained for power and strength. His thick arms were shielded under polished chrome braces while black leather gloves protected his hands. Clasped at his shoulders was a long, thick, blood red cloak that waved in the breeze, dominating the image. This wasn't the look of a simple Hufflepuff soldier or even the bodyguard of the Slytherin Prince.

This was the picture of a mighty King,

And atop his white horse, Harry looked magnificent.

In that moment, Draco was sure he had never been more in love with him.

Draco could pinpoint the exact moment Harry recognised Draco as the Slytherin army arrived.

Harry's green eyes zeroed directly on Draco and a brief and almost invisible look of utmost horror and fear crossed the man's face. Draco was sure no one else noticed, but after being so invested in the man, every small twitch Harry made meant something significant to Draco.

Draco's eyes locked on Harry as well and his heart fluttered. He knew that it was only fear of Draco's safety that could cause Harry's strong mask to falter. He could see Harry silently ask with his eyes what Draco was doing there.

But of course, that didn't happen. For in that moment, his father spoke.

The Slytherin King laughed—a horrible, bone-chilling sound—as he recognised Harry. "Harry Potter," he mocked. Draco did a double-take at his father. The voice that came out of his father's mouth was foreign. It sounded nothing like him. Draco frowned, wondering what was happening to him.

The Slytherin King's eyes swivelled a little to Harry's left and narrowed in fury. "Severus Snape," he hissed. The sound was chilling. "I see your loyalties have turned."

Draco looked at the man he was talking to—a sallow-skinned, tall man with shoulder-length black hair. He was on his own horse by Harry's side.

"My loyalties never lay with you, Riddle," the man named Snape replied.

Draco flinched. _Riddle?_ What was he talking about? This was his father. Lucius.

To Draco's surprise, his father didn't correct Snape. "I see," he simply murmured. "Your loss, Severus. Today you will die with the rest of this rabble." His father then turned to someone else near Harry, an old man with a long white beard. "Dumbledore, we meet again."

"It's been too long," the old man said. "I see you've found a suitable body to indwell."

"Lucius is my most faithful servant. He begged to be my host and he has served his purpose well. It is a shame he won't survive this ordeal when my soul leaves him. Still, some sacrifices must be made."

Horrified, Draco felt physically shaken, like his whole world turned on its head. He looked at the man next to him and couldn't begin to comprehend what was going on. All he knew was that the Slytherin King was no longer his father. Why or how, Draco had no clue.

Draco turned to look at Harry, desperately seeking some sort of hope. He found that Harry's gaze was locked tightly on him, silently offering Draco all the strength he had. Of all the people on this battlefield, Harry was the only person Draco trusted.

-mp-

Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw Draco in the front line with his father. His carefully crafted mask faltered for a second.

_No, no, no, no! _he inwardly begged, hating that he had no control over this. How was he supposed to make sure Draco was kept safe if he was right there?

He heard Lucius—or rather, Voldemort—address him and then Snape, but he only had eyes for Draco. Looking at the face of his lover, Harry began desperately praying that Draco would live. He wouldn't be able to survive if Draco didn't. Draco didn't even know how to fight—what on earth was he doing on the battlefield?

Draco's gaze found his and for that moment, Harry fell in love with him all over again. Every part of Harry longed for him. He prayed to whatever deity there was that he would at least have one more chance to hold Draco in his arms again.

"Your army is impressive, Harry Potter," the voice of Voldemort cut into his thoughts like a knife. Heavy sarcasm accompanied it. "I am trembling in fear," he mocked.

Harry tore his gaze off Draco and looked into the face of his enemy. It was Lucius on the outside, but inside him was the fragmented soul of Voldemort. Harry knew Draco's father had long ago signed his life away to Riddle. Now, he was merely a puppet. His heart went out to Draco. Now both he and Draco had lost their fathers to this monster.

"Your end has come, Tom."

Riddle hissed. "That name is dead. Do you really think you and your insignificant army could possibly threaten me?"

"It must. Why else would you assemble such an enormous army to fight me?" Harry retorted.

Riddle snapped, "To ensure all of Gryffindor is wiped out."

"Salazar Slytherin didn't manage it. Are you sure you will?" Harry asked, taking a leaf out of Riddle's book and allowing mockery to steep his tone. He was sure it would enrage him.

As expected, Riddle sneered hotly. His eyes burned red with anger at Harry's audacity. "Your confidence is unfounded, Potter," he growled. "Before this day is over, I will triumph over your corpse."

Harry saw Draco twitch, but he made sure his own countenance was unaffected.

"You forget, _Tom_—" Riddle glared at him once more for the use of his original name "—that you need me to achieve your so-called triumph. And if you think I'm just going to give you the Sw—"

"Oh I think we can find a way to make you a little more … cooperative," Riddle said, his eyes sly and crafty.

Once again, Draco tensed up and he quickly caught Harry's gaze with wide eyes, silently telling him something. Silently apologising. A horrible feeling overcame Harry then. He suddenly understood why Draco was there at all.

_ Voldemort was planning on blackmailing Harry with Draco's life. _

"Oh, yes …" Voldemort hissed evilly. "I can see your little mind ticking away."

Keeping his face neutral was a struggle, as his heart was pounding wildly. He forced himself to keep his eyes off Draco, unable to bear the guilt of knowing Harry's desire for Draco was what put him in such danger. It would be his fault if Draco died here.

Riddle got off his horse and, to Harry utmost horror, ushered Draco off his and took the blond firmly by the arm, holding him captive.

"Now that I have your full attention, Harry Potter," Riddle drawled with a cunning smile, "Why don't you take me to the Sword."

Harry's eyes found Draco's again. His heart was shattering at the sight of Voldemort laying a hand on his lover.

He found his voice again and he turned to the Professor. "Come with me," he said to his mentor.

Dumbledore was about to reply when Voldemort interrupted, "I think not. Potter comes alone."

Harry was about to protest when he saw Voldemort tug Draco's arm harshly, reminding Harry that he was in no position to object. Draco small cry of pain tore Harry's heart.

Harry saw Ron and the Professor desperately wanting to accompany him, but this situation was beyond their control. As much as Harry hated it, as long as Voldemort had Draco in his clutches, Harry was completely under his control. He wasn't about to put one toe out of line if it meant compromising Draco's safety.

Squaring his jaw, Harry slid off his horse and drew his sword. He approached Voldemort and Draco alone. "Happy?" he asked harshly.

"I will be when I have the Sword. Now, take me to it."

Harry and Draco locked gazes for a second before Voldemort yanked the blond hard once more, causing him to yelp. Harry's fist curled tighter.

Left with no choice, he led their little trio into the mercy of the Dark Forest, where he knew Red Sword awaited them.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: If you go down in the woods today, be sure of a big surprise… _


	43. The Sword

Chapter 42

**The Sword**

Filled with rage, Harry pressed forward into the Dark Forest. He could feel his dormant store of magical energy bubbling up inside him as his fury grew hotter at the thought of Voldemort's hands holding Draco captive. Occasionally, Voldemort would pull Draco's arm roughly causing the blonde to stumble and gasp in pain, which only stoked the fires of Harry's anger.

_Son of a bitch bastard, _Harry growled in his mind, his fist and jaw tight. Keeping his eyes on the concealed path before him, Harry fought to keep himself outwardly calm.

"Where is it?" Voldemort hissed after a minute of walking.

Harry purposefully didn't respond and kept on pressing forward. If he was honest, Harry had no idea where the Sword was. He was merely walking deeper and deeper into the Forest, hoping he would either stumble upon it, or the mysterious Voice would speak to him once more. But with every step, he was becoming concerned he was leading them fruitlessly.

Voldemort spoke again but this time his voice was further behind. "Where _is it?_"

Harry paused and turned to see Voldemort had stopped a few metres ago, holding Draco hostage before him. Harry's heart tore into pieces at the fear in Draco's eyes, staring at Harry. The fury within Harry threatened to spill over.

"If you don't answer, I will cut off one of your precious lover's hands," Voldemort threatened, twirling a knife in his free hand.

Draco sucked in a breath of fear, while Harry's eyes burned with hatred. "If you so much as cut off a strand of his hair, I will _kill_ you."

"Oh really?" the sly bastard drawled, before swiftly grabbing the hair at Draco's nape and pulling hard.

Draco yelped in pain as his head was forced upward, and his pale slender neck was left completely exposed.

Harry growled furiously. "Get your hands off him, you son of a bitch!"

"Where is the Sword?"

"We're going to it!" Harry snapped. "We're almost there!" It was a lie, of course.

Voldemort let go of Draco's hair. "There now, that wasn't so hard," he mocked. "Lead on, O Gryffindor King."

With one last agonising look into Draco's eyes, Harry turned back around and headed deeper into the Forest, hating that he had no choice. If only Draco was left behind, then Harry was sure he would have destroyed Voldemort by then.

After another handful of minutes of futile searching, Harry still had no clue where the Sword was, and he was utterly lost. All sense of bearing fled him; he couldn't determine north anymore. He was sure Voldemort would offer his complaints soon.

"I don't think you quite understand my impatience, _Potter_," Voldemort spat finally. "If you are deliberately misleading me, you can rest assured your little Prince will never see the light of day again."

Harry spun and glared dangerously. "Don't you dare—"

"Perhaps you need a little incentive," the evil man remarked with a sly look in his glinting eyes.

Dread filled Harry as he watched Voldemort sheath his sword and instead pull out a much smaller, much thinner wooden weapon. Harry would have laughed at such a nonthreatening looking weapon had he not seen Dumbledore with his own similar tool a few months ago. But he was aware of the power capable in a wand. And as Voldemort pointed his coal black wand at Draco's head, Harry felt paralysing fear numb his entire body.

His eyes shot wide in terror. "NO—!" he began to shout.

"_Crucio!_"

Draco _screamed_.

"DRACO!" Harry roared.

The blond dropped down to the ground and began writhing in excruciating pain under the unnatural power of pulsing red light shooting from Voldemort's wand. Roaring with fury, Harry rushed forward to slam into Voldemort but found he couldn't move. Some invisible force was forbidding any step forward. So all he could do was watch; watch as the person he loved most in the world was driven to the edge of sanity under unbearable pain.

One word stood out among Draco's screams. "_HARRY!_"

Harry was in hell. His heart shattered into pieces. Every part of him was screaming out to help Draco. Tears escaped his eyes. He remembered his vision of Draco suffering under Voldemort's wand from months ago and hated himself for not foreseeing it.

Then, Voldemort started laughing and Harry lost it.

"LET GO OF HIM, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Voldemort, smiling, released the spell. Draco's screams cut off, his breathing harsh as he began whimpering and curling his spine to protect himself from further agony. Harry couldn't bear to watch Draco and kept his hard glare fixed on Voldemort. He noticed that Voldemort suddenly looked a little more haggard. As if the effort of casing that curse was great.

"There now, that was fun, wasn't it?" Voldemort asked.

"I'm going to tear you apart with my bare hands, you son of a bitch," Harry threatened with all the abhorrence he possessed. His jaw was clenched. "I'm going to kill you."

Voldemort nodded mockingly. "Yes, of course, but first you need to take me to the Sword. And now that you know I'm not to be trifled with, I think you'll be very cooperative indeed. One wrong step and little Draco here will pay the consequence."

Voldemort turned to Draco and kicked him on the leg. Harry clenched his fist.

"Come on then," Voldemort told Draco, "The fun's not over yet and you are proving to be very useful indeed."

Clearly struggling with the effort, Draco got back on his feet gingerly, wincing, and gasping. Harry saw his silver eyes were wet and his entire face was smeared with his tears. Despite the overwhelming urge to run to him and protect him, Harry knew the only way to end this hell was to find the Sword.

And so they pressed on, Harry praying they would find it soon.

It seemed like an eternity before he heard it.

_"Harry Potter …"_ came the strangely familiar Voice from the Forest.

Harry's head whipped up in relief. Finally. Behind him, he heard Draco gasp in shock at the mysterious whisper of Harry's name.

"I have come for the Sword," Harry called to the Voice.

The Voice took a few seconds to respond, as if assessing Harry's request. "_You are finally ready … Come, the Sword is yours …"_

Guided by the enigmatic Voice, Harry led them further into the darkness, into the trees and shadows. They were so far from the exit back into the Nullius, Harry began to wonder if any human had set foot here in the last millennium.

_"It is your destiny,"_ the Voice spoke once more, this time louder than Harry had ever heard it before.

Harry's heartbeat sped up. They were close, he could feel it.

Before the thought had even finished registering in his mind, Harry slipped around a tree and his gaze was caught by a most incredible sight.

For a moment, Harry felt his breath catch. A deep founded feeling of raw emotion overwhelmed him. Suddenly, he knew this was an ancient and sacred place.

In the centre of a grassy clearing, an enormous golden Sword hilt protruded from the earth, blood rubies encrusted on its tip, waiting there for over a thousand years for someone with Harry's blood to come claim it.

His ancestor had forged and fought with it. Now it was Harry's turn. His very identity was found in the Red Sword.

A rush of livening energy rushed in him. He could feel the magic in the Sword crying out for him, inviting him. It was an intoxicating sensation.

"Oh yes ..." came the snake-like hiss from Voldemort as he too stepped into the clearing. He sounded drunk. "Oh I can feel it … That magic …"

"Harry?" Draco asked, staring at the Sword hilt with wide, confused eyes.

Voldemort slapped Draco across the cheek. "You dare speak in the presence of such magic!"

Furious, Harry rushed to Voldemort, sword drawn.

"Uh-uh-uh," Voldemort said in a sing-song manner, holding his own sword against Draco's throat, having swapped his wand for his blade once more. "One step closer and your precious Prince's head comes rolling off."

Harry stopped mid-stride, gaze burning daggers as he stared murderously at Voldemort. "Threatening Draco's life is not what's going to get me to obey you, you bastard," Harry growled.

"On the contrary, that's _exactly_ what will make you obey. Your pathetic attraction to this creature is your undoing. Your Achilles Heel, so to speak. You see, Harry, I have always been on the firm belief that love is the worst thing any man possess. And here is your proof. Love is what is going to destroy you."

"You're wrong. You won't destroy me."

"Oh but I will," Voldemort hissed. "The best way to destroy a man is not by threatening him … but by threatening his loved ones. Even if I don't lay a hand on you, seeing me rip Draco apart limb by limb will wound you far more than if I inflicted pain on you."

Harry's heart sped up in horror once more. Every muscle he had tensed in fear. The bastard was right. Watching Draco suffer under the curse was horrifying enough. He knew he wouldn't be able to survive if Draco was broken. Draco's beautiful silver eyes were desperately stuck on Harry and it tore at his heart. Draco looked as if he was apologising to Harry and Harry couldn't bear it. None of this was Draco's fault. Harry knew he was entirely to blame if anything happened.

"Or maybe …" Voldemort continued in a fake pondering tone "... Seeing as how much your little Prince loves to take it up the arse …" His voice trailed off but Harry could piece together the rest of the sentence.

Draco's breath faltered and Harry saw red. Hatred and wrath coursed through his body. His hands formed fists, dying to rip the bastard apart.

"You sick fuck," Harry murmured, trying to keep his voice strong, but knowing it was close to wavering.

Voldemort laughed. The sound was chilling. "I am, aren't I?"

"Your battle is with me. Let him go. He's done nothing wrong."

"No, Harry!" Draco cried out.

Voldemort sliced Draco's face with his sword.

"NO!" Harry roared.

Draco's left cheek had been ripped open in a clean red split from his jaw to the inside corner of his eye. Tears began to fall down his face.

"Now what did I tell you about speaking? Hm?" Voldemort reprimanded Draco in a soft voice. "You must keep quiet."

"Get your _hands_ off him!"

"Why? Do you have a problem with this?" Voldemort asked menacingly, sliding his sickening hands up and down Draco's arms. Then he leant close to Draco's ear and began whispering things to him Harry couldn't hear.

Harry saw Draco shudder as they maintained eye contact but the blonde kept his mouth shut. Harry could only imagine the filth Voldemort was telling him.

He decided now was his opportunity. The Red Sword's hilt was only a few feet away from him and if he didn't act, then Voldemort would only continue to threaten and antagonise them both. Harry needed to act.

Sending one last look in Draco's direction, and seeing Voldemort still crowding close to his beloved, Harry leapt.

In the next three seconds, several things happened.

Voldemort looked up, his peripheral gaze caught by Harry's sudden movement.

Harry flung his weapon aside and reached down and wrapped his palm around the golden hilt.

And suddenly—incredibly—

_Magic._

Pure, raw, _pulsing_ magic flowed into Harry.

It coursed into his veins, pumping throughout his body, as if a brand new life-force was taking over him. The sheer force of the boundless energy rendered Harry completely overawed.

Then, with inhuman strength, powered entirely by magic, Harry pulled the enormous Sword out from the ground. There was something uncomprehendingly _right_ about the power of the Sword in his two hands.

The Red Sword.

The Sword of Gryffindor.

Now rightfully restored.

Upon its unbreakable blade, the words GODRIC GRYFFINDOR were engraved.

Somewhere, someone gasped.

Harry recognised it as Draco.

He turned and looked up to see Voldemort and Draco watching him; Voldemort with a sneer, Draco in awe.

"Now," Voldemort spoke, breaking the silence. He placed his weapon against Draco's throat. "Give me the Sword, or I kill Draco."

Fifteen seconds ago, the sight of Voldemort's blade against Draco's throat would have terrified Harry to the point of obedience.

But something had changed.

What Voldemort hadn't expected when Harry drew the Sword, was that the Sword's magic would instantly indwell Harry at the first touch of his hand. Now, Harry had magic and power beyond Voldemort could know.

They were completely unmatched. And for the first time in Harry's life, he had the upper hand.

"Give me the Sword, Potter," Voldemort repeated. "Give me what is rightfully mine."

"Yours?" Harry echoed in a low, dangerous voice.

"Salazar Slytherin once wielded that Sword and overcame his enemy with it. It is only right if it is returned to me. As my ancestor once used the Sword to strike down Gryffindor, _I_ will use it to strike down Gryffindor's Heir." Voldemort paused and gave Harry a meaningful look. "Yes, _I_ am the Heir of Slytherin."

This was news to Harry, but he made sure his face didn't betray an ounce of surprise. He had thought Slytherin never had an heir. Riddle must be the descendent of an illegimate child.

"I don't care what you are," Harry growled. "Just get your filthy hands off Draco, or I'll make you wish your bastard ancestor died all those years ago. Consider this your first and only warning."

"Do you really think you can intimidate me?" Voldemort sneered. "You may have that Sword in your hand, but you don't know the first thing about it, boy."

Harry smirked.

"Now," Voldemort continued, pressing his blade a fraction deeper against Draco's skin, almost to the point of tearing it, "consider _this_ your last warning. If you don't give me the Sword, you can bid farewell to your lover. I'll count to five." Voldemort shot Harry with a victorious look, already confident in his triumph. "One…"

Harry looked at Draco. The terror on his face was palpable.

"Two …"

Harry forced himself to close his eyes. He clenched the Sword tightly with his two hands. Focusing.

"Three …"  
>There was an exhilarating rush of magic. He felt it from his forehead to his toes. It was wild and heady and powerful.<p>

"Four …"

Harry controlled the magic. Bent it to his will. Dumbledore had told him that when he finally got his hands on the Sword, he would know what to do. The old man had been right. It was instinctual. Harry just _knew_.

"Fi—" Voldemort's voice was cut off as if his lungs had locked. His eyes shot open in shock as he stared at Harry, and his grip on Draco relaxed a little.

"Draco, run!" Harry commanded.

The blond obeyed immediately, slipping free from Voldemort's suddenly unresponsive and limp grip and rushing toward and then behind Harry.

Harry moved forward, Sword drawn high. He withdrew the force of magic that had momentarily paralysed Voldemort. As soon as he could move again, the bastard held his own weapon up defensively, as if trying off ward off Harry, while a gradual and terrible realisation dawned on him. His evil eyes opened in shock. He realised he no longer had control. Harry had _magic_.

"I finally understand why you were so obsessed with magic, Tom," Harry said. "It's incredible. Like I can do anything and no one can stop me."

There was terror in Voldemort's eyes. Harry revelled in it. Then, as if Voldemort had realised he had run out of options, he suddenly rushed at Harry.

Draco yelped in fear but Harry was ready to block the first attack and strike back with his own.

They fought. The Heir of Gryffindor and the Heir of Slytherin, just as their ancestors had done thousands of years before. The Red Sword thundered in Harry's powerful hand, with a life of its own, as if releasing pent-up energy that had been constrained for an age. Every one of Voldemort's attacks were met and overcome with Harry, until Voldemort could do nothing but defend.

The fight was undeniably unmatched. For not only was Harry the best swordsman of the time, but the power of his newfound magic was fuelling each of his movements.

With a final lunge, Harry forced Voldemort down to the ground and flung his sword from his hands. Harry towered above him.

"Your end has come, Tom," he spoke in a low voice, eyes hard and full of hatred. "You have murdered my family, incriminated an innocent man, ruined my life and my friends', destroyed Draco's father, planned the destruction of an entire Kingdom … and almost killed Draco." Harry narrowed his eyes and pointed his Sword directly into Voldemort's chest. "This is for them. But before I kill you I just want you know, you were wrong. Love won't destroy me … Today, love will triumph."

And Harry, propelled by magic and love and the promise of a new future, thrust the Sword right into Voldemort's heart.

A huge burst of light erupted from the Sword, enveloping them in its warmth. The war that had begun with Godric and Salazar was finally, rightfully, finished. The centuries-old tension was finally relieved. The war finally over.

As Voldemort's life left him, Harry felt a renewed burst of magical energy and he breathed out a large sigh. When the light subsided, Voldemort lay dead and Harry stepped away, filled with relief, shock, fatigue and fulfilment.

"It's over," he breathed. He dropped to his knees and released the hilt of the Sword on the ground. Raising his eyes up to the heavens, he saw something he hadn't expected to see. The sun. It was shining through the once-impenetrable trees of the Forest, illuminating the clearing in its warmth. The ever-present grey cloud that had always hovered above the Dark Forest for thousands of years had finally disappeared.

Harry got up and turned, eyes catching on the exhausted figure of his lover watching him. He felt all the love he had for this man overwhelm him. He couldn't believe he had almost lost Draco. Seeing him alive and safe now made Harry weak with relief.

He crossed over to him and knelt beside him.

"Harry," Draco whispered, a tear slipping down his beautiful face.

Harry gathered Draco in his arms and embraced him tightly, desperate for palpable proof that Draco was very much alive. The touch of Draco's skin was warm and reviving. "I love you. I love you so much," he breathed, kissing Draco's soft hair, running his hands all over the man in his arms.

"I love you too," Draco whispered into Harry's neck.

"I'm sorry." Harry felt his own tears fall.

Draco pulled away gently, his face concerned and loving. "Why?"

Harry lifted a hand and rested it gently against Draco's beautiful face, remembering every detail, overpoweringly thankful he hadn't lost Draco. "You suffered."

"It doesn't matter."

"He hurt you." Harry winced, physically aching at the memory of Draco in pain. "He used you to get to me."

"But it doesn't matter," Draco repeated, kissing Harry's palm, "because you won. I knew you would. You're still my hero."

"I don't deserve you," Harry said, stroking Draco's jaw, careful to avoid the long ugly cut Voldemort had torn into Draco's cheek.

"But I'm already yours, so don't you even think of changing that," Draco responded softly, with a barely visible smile on his face. "Kiss me, Harry."

And he did. Harry locked their mouths together desperately, exploring Draco all over again. The feel of Draco in his arms, alive and warm and _his_, sent Harry's heart soaring. It didn't matter what came next, it didn't matter what just happened. Only the moment mattered and Harry couldn't help feeling like, finally, all was right in the world.

Draco's kiss was more magical than anything the Sword could give him. His small breaths against Harry's face were the best thing Harry had ever felt. He couldn't believe how much one person could mean so much to him, but Harry knew Draco was at the centre of his world. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for this man.

"Marry me," Harry whispered against Draco's lips.

Draco stopped moving and opened his eyes. He pulled back a fraction, but Harry held him close. "What?" he breathed. He stared with eyes as wide as plates into Harry's deeply sincere gaze.

"Marry me, Draco," Harry repeated, leaning forward to kiss him softly once more. "I don't want to live without you. I _can't_. I need you … more than anything in the world."

"But … Harry … we can't. What are you talking about?"

"We _can_," Harry corrected. "We can do anything."

Draco's eyebrows dipped down a little and he licked his lips. "Harry, I love you. You know that. But think about this. You're talking madness. Think about all the people—"

"I don't care about them. If I have to live another day without you, I'll go mad." Harry searched Draco's magnetic eyes desperately. He leaned in for another deep kiss and caught Draco's lips. "I only want you."

Harry kissed him hard, as if desperate to convince him. The decision to propose marriage was impulsive and strange and completely different, but Harry couldn't think of anything else he'd rather do. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he wanted this.

Draco pulled away after a long moment with a small smile on his face. "Stop distracting me," he whispered.

"I'm sorry," Harry breathed in return, still nuzzling Draco's lips and nose. He wasn't sorry at all, just completely infatuated with this man. "Marry me," he asked again. He tried for a kiss once more but Draco put a gentle hand over Harry's mouth to stop him.

"You are a crazy man, Harry Potter," he said with a smile.

"And completely in love with you," Harry added, locking their eyes. He kissed the palm Draco was holding up to stop his advances.

"And what about Ginny?" Draco asked, dropping his smile.

"She knows about you. She knows I love you."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "She knows? And?"

"She left me."

Draco's mouth opened in shock. "And what about … the … baby?"

Harry shrugged. "It's still my child, and Ginny is still its mother … but we're separated." Harry took Draco's hand. "I can't be with anyone else, Draco. And I can't … bear the thought of you with anyone but me."

Draco closed his eyes and released a breath. "Harry, you're talking of things that just can't be. This is … crazy."

"I know it is."

"It's just not done."

"Draco, our whole lives have been lived for us. We hardly make our own decisions. This is our turn. Do this with me. Marry me."

Draco looked at him with a strange mixture of concern and yearning, as if half of him just wanted to pretend Harry had never proposed marriage, while the other half wanted to say yes. Harry hung on the precipice, waiting for Draco's next words. He was suddenly terrified that his answer could be no. He hadn't given himself time to worry but now in the silence, Harry's heart was pounding. For the longest time Draco said nothing. Harry felt like a starving man waiting for a scrap of food. What would Draco say?

Draco didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned in close and kissed Harry hard, colliding their lips together. He raised himself on his knees, keeping their mouths locked, so that Harry found himself lifting his head skyward to kiss him. Draco's fingers buried into Harry's hair while Harry cradled Draco's hips. Harry felt drunk in the kiss. It was almost a little frightening how much he adored this man.

Eventually, Draco pulled away and looked down at Harry. Harry's entire field of vision was of Draco's face.

"I don't know what or how it's going to happen," Draco began, gently carding his fingers through Harry's locks, "I don't even know if it's possible … but my answer is yes."

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. He released his quick breath of air, surprised to find he'd been holding it in. A smile pulled at his mouth. "Yes?" he echoed, wanting to hear it again.

Draco smiled down at him. "Yes, you foolish, crazy, insane man, _yes_."

Harry let that sentence register in his mind, before suddenly scooping Draco up in his arms and embracing him tightly. Draco's laugh filled the clearing as he locked his arms around Harry's neck, and Harry couldn't help but laugh with him. The look on Draco's face was one Harry would never forget; joy, warmth, love. Harry found it hard to believe that such an incredible person could ever be his.

"I love you."

Draco lowered himself down so that he and Harry were now level and kissed him. "I love you back." Then he burrowed himself into Harry's frame. Harry sighed in complete content, holding Draco close. He couldn't believe it. He hardly deserved someone as incredible as Draco, but that didn't matter. Because nothing now could keep them apart. Draco was his and Harry wouldn't let Merlin himself stop that.

They stayed this way for a long moment. There was nowhere else Harry wanted to be.

After an amount of time Harry couldn't measure, Draco looked up into Harry's face. "We should probably head back. They still don't even know what happened with my fath—Voldemort," Draco said, a look of sadness crossing his face at his mistake in name.

It hit Harry how Draco must have seen the events of the afternoon. Voldemort had indwelt Lucius' body, so when Harry looked at the man, he had known it was Riddle, but Draco had seen his own father. How else was he supposed to interpret the situation?

Harry's heart broke for Draco. He couldn't imagine what it must have felt like for Draco when Voldemort had him under the agonising curse, or threatening to do unspeakable horrors to him. Draco must have thought … _his own father…_

And now, Lucius was dead.

"Draco," Harry whispered, holding Draco tighter against his chest, "I am so sorry."

"For what?"

"Your father."

Harry felt Draco tense up and then shake his head slightly. "No, don't be. He made his own choices. I barely recognised him anymore. My allegiance for the past few days have been with you, Harry. I couldn't side with a man who practically sold his soul to the devil."

Harry kissed him on the forehead, then raised his head to look at him. "You are far braver than I could ever be." He ran his fingers lightly near Draco's wounded cheek and hated that it marred his face. "You should get that cut treated." With a slight smirk, he added, "I know a pretty good healer who might be able to look after it. He's healed my own injuries before."

Draco smiled, understanding. "Then he must be absolutely brilliant," he remarked playfully.

"Oh, he is." Harry stole another kiss and pulled Draco in to deepen it hungrily.

But Draco pushed back. "No," he said with a small laugh, "Stop it. We need to go back."

Harry groaned and sighed. "You're right." He let Draco up, following him upright.

Draco took his hand. "Come on," he said gently.

"Wait." Harry crossed to where he had dropped the Sword and picked it up again. He saw Draco eyeing it curiously.

"About that," Draco began, "you have a lot of explaining to do."

Harry smiled and ran a hand through his hair. He really should have expected this. "Like what?" he asked innocently.

"Magic?" Draco prompted, his expression completely sceptical. He may have seen it with his own eyes but Draco didn't have a clue what it really was.

Harry laughed and took Draco by the arm. "Later," he promised. "I'll explain everything later."

To Harry's relief, Draco didn't object. Together, they retraced their steps out.

-mp-

_ Next Chapter: Epilogue. _


	44. We The Kings

_A/N: As sad as it is for me to say, we've arrived at the last chapter of We the Kings. Thank you so much for everyone who gave this story a chance and read it to the end. It was a blast to write and even more exciting to read your reviews. You guys rock my world. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be._

_I also hope to post a new story sometime in the future. Some of you have asked me what's next on my agenda, and I'm happy to say that I've started planning out the sequel to MHDSR. Hopefully, I can get that one up and running in the not too distant future._

_Have a safe and awesome 2012._

_Love, MP._

-mp-

Chapter 43

**We the Kings**

When he was a young child, Harry had always dreamed of leading mighty armies, fighting the most evil foes, rescuing the innocent and then coming home to his family once justice had been restored upon the earth once more. It was the dream of every young boy who hoped to become a knight.

Now, as he looked around the town centre of Gryffindor, surveying the carousing celebrations, revelry and drunken bliss of his townsfolk, it was hard to believe he could tick most of his list off. One thing, however, remained. His family.

Draco was currently hidden in Harry's home. As the only Slytherin who had returned to Gryffindor, he was understandably a little reluctant to show himself. During the journey back north, he had covered his hair with a heavy cowl to conceal his recognisable features, and upon arrival, swiftly hidden himself away. Harry had of course wanted to stay with him, but Draco had forced him to go and have fun.

So he found himself standing on the edge of the celebrations, observing the result of their victory today, and feeling deeply satisfied. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a dark polished stick the length of his forearm and stared at it curiously. Earlier, the Professor had given him a wand, with instructions to accustom himself to wielding the instrument. Despite knowing the power of magic, Harry still found it odd to trust your entire life into a thin and easily breakable stick. He lifted his arm, holding the wand aloft and feeling a little silly. He mimicked the spell he had once heard Dumbledore chant, whispered, "_Lumos_!"

The wand-tip alighted with a bright and unnatural light. The magic fuelling the phenomenon seemed to come from his very bones. There was a rushing energy buzzing inside him, with Harry could only liken to the warmth he felt when drinking alcohol. He stared at his wand, a small smile tugging at his lips. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't wait to learn more.

_"One day, my boy,"_ the Professor had told him, _"the whole Kingdom will learn magic once again, thanks to you."_

Harry had flushed.

He looked up from his wand to see Ron approaching him from a distance. He swiftly whispered, "_Nox!"_ to his wand and watched the light dim to black.

He knew Ron would eventually come to know all about magic, but Harry decided now wasn't the right time. Not when Ron was drunk off his head and walking in a straight line proved to be difficult.

"Harry!" Ron bellowed to him as he finally neared him, a large tankard of beer in each hand. "I can't have you moping around like some depressed Slytherin." He shoved one of the jugs towards Harry; the liquid inside sloshed dangerously, threatening to spill. "Drink! Get drunk! Laugh! Make love! Regret it in the morning!"

Harry laughed and took the proffered alcohol, before placing it on a chair beside him. "No thanks, Ron. I'd prefer to keep sober."

"Why?" Ron asked, screwing his face extraordinarily, as if requesting to remain sober was unapologetically absurd. "The war is over. That bastard Riddle is gone. Have some fun!"

"I am," Harry replied happily. "You can have fun without alcohol, you know."

Ron blinked at him. Clearly, he didn't agree. Harry grinned.

"Whatever," Ron blurted, "If I don't see you dancing and drinking and laughing at some point tonight, I'll … I'll …"

"Yes?"

But Ron's gaze had caught on something over Harry's shoulder. "Sweet Merlin … My eyes have seen an angel of heaven," he breathed somewhat dramatically.

Harry spun to see Hermione exiting her tent. In place of her usual royal blue robes, she was wearing an exquisite gown of dark red in honour of Gryffindor's victory. Her cinnamon hair was let down in waves over her shoulders. She looked absolutely incredible. Harry could see why Ron was completely besotted.

"She cleans up nicely," Harry said.

"_Nicely_?" Ron echoed incredulously. "Harry, have you _seen_ her? She's a goddess!"

Harry laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder.

Ron proceeded to rhapsodise about Hermione's beauty; everything from her hair to her toes. This made Harry wonder when Ron had seen Hermione's toes, and then swiftly shook his head to relieve himself of the thought. He didn't want to know what Ron and Hermione did when no one was watching.

"I don't deserve her," Ron said at the end of his speech with a loud sigh. "Look at her. She's a Princess. And what am I? Just a stupid Hufflepuff knight."

"No you're not," Harry corrected. "You're a Gryffindor noble."

Ron shook his head and frowned at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry shrugged. "Since I'm the King, I figured I get to choose who my noblemen are to be, and I choose you, Lord Weasley."

Ron looked sceptical. "That sounds odd."

"It won't to her father, though," Harry said, placing an arm around Ron's shoulder and speaking in his ear while they both looked at Hermione in the distance. "Think about how much more the King of Ravenclaw will agree to a union between his daughter and you, if you were a noble in the Gryffindor Court." Harry grinned. "Which you are, as of right now."

Ron's face changed. His eyes slowly opened wider. "Really?" he asked, all joking aside, realising a relationship with Hermione could actually be a possibility.

"Of course. Hermione doesn't need to marry a Prince or a King, just as long as the one she's betrothed to has noble blood."

"But I don't have noble bl—"

"Kneel," Harry said with a large grin.

Ron did a double take. "What?"

Harry chuckled. "Kneel, you fool."

Ron gave him a dry look. "Harry."

"Do you or do you not want to have noble blood?"

"Waving your stupid Sword around my shoulders isn't going to give me noble blood," Ron reasoned.

Harry shrugged, deciding that was true. "Let's just pretend we did it, yeah? That way you can tell everyone that you were knighted into the Gryffindor Court by the King. That sounds plausible."

Ron thought for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks."

Harry smiled. "No problem. That had to be the worst knighting ceremony in the history of the world."

Ron snorted. "Probably."

"But now you have a chance with your goddess," Harry reminded him with a wink.

Ron turned to look at Hermione once more, who was standing at the edge of the town square, laughing at the merriment before her. "I suppose I do," he muttered.

"Go to her," Harry advised wisely to friend. "Go get your Princess."

Ron hit Harry on the shoulder and nodded. "Thanks, mate." Then, eyes glued on Hermione, he moseyed off to her.

Harry smiled happily as he watched Ron walk away to his beloved, and pondered of his own relationship with Draco. A thought occurred to him. If the possibility of Ron and Hermione's relationship could be made public, Harry decided it was time to let others know about his secret too.

Spurred on by a sudden bolt of courage, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Hey, Ron!"

Ron turned. "Yeah?"

Harry opened his mouth to call his friend back towards him, ready to spill his secret. But then saw the look in Ron's eyes. It was a look of excitement, love and hope. Here was a man who appeared to have discovered all the treasures of the earth in Hermione and he couldn't wait to go and be with her, the one person in the world he loved most.

Harry smiled. Perhaps now wasn't the best time anyway. "Never mind. Go have fun!"

Ron grinned and waved. "Will do, Harry!" Turning back, he continued towards Hermione.

There would be enough time later on to tell him, Harry decided wisely. Ron could spend one more night in ignorant bliss. What's more, there was also the matter of Ron finding out about his and Ginny's separation. _Yes, _Harry thought, a small measure of dread making him wince, _postponing the news was definitely the right course of action for now._

Harry looked backward in the general direction of his house and decided he desperately wanted to go to Draco. He had stayed away for long enough.

"I believe congratulations are in order," the voice of Remus came from behind Harry.

He turned to see his mentor and Sirius approaching him, both with proud smiles on their faces.

Harry returned them with his own smile. "Hope you're both having a good time."

"Thanks to you," Remus added. "But something tells me you're not."

Harry chuckled. "Just because I'm not drunk doesn't mean I'm not having a good time."

Sirius snorted while Remus replied, "Trust me, I'm not Ron, I know that."

Smiling, Harry shook his head casually and shrugged. "I'm just thinking, and enjoying watching all this." He made a vague pointing gesture to the carousing crowds before them.

"Of course," Remus said vaguely. He nodded and looked around. After twenty years of living with him, Harry could tell Remus had something he wanted to say. Harry could almost see his mind ticking away. Remus pursed his lips.

Harry almost wanted to roll his eyes amusedly. He knew what Remus wanted to say. Deciding to save Remus from his own hesitance, Harry said, "He's at my house."

Remus and Sirius looked at Harry sharply. "He is?" Remus asked.

Harry nodded. "I'm assuming you told Sirius," Harry guessed.

"Yeah … I hope that's okay," Sirius said.

"Sooner or later, everyone's going to know. I'm glad you already do. Keeping him a secret is one of the hardest things I have to do … And considering what happened today, that's saying something."

"Why aren't you with him?" Sirius asked.

Harry laughed. "He forced me to leave and have fun with everyone." He shook his head fondly. "I think he's worried he's keeping me away from all my friends. I don't think he realises there's nowhere else I'd rather be than with him."

Remus smiled encouragingly. "Well, when he's ready, tell him that it would be an honour to meet him."

Harry thought for a brief second and said impulsively, "Why don't you come meet him now?"

"Now?" Remus echoed. Sirius raised his eyebrows.

Harry nodded. "It'd be good. And since you already know about us, there's very little risk of someone having a heart attack." He frowned. "Except maybe Draco," he added as an afterthought. "I'd really like people to start to get to know him. And who better than you two?"

Sirius and Remus shared a glance. "If you're sure," Remus said slowly.

"Come on."

He led them to his house, tucked away on one edge of the town and safely away from the celebrations. A light was lit inside the small abode.

Harry knocked twice. "Draco?"

"Harry?" came his voice, sounding hopeful.

Harry smiled. "Draco, don't be scared … but I've got two of my close friends here with me."

Silence met him. Harry could almost see Draco frozen with his grey eyes widened comically, wondering what on earth Harry was thinking.

When Harry knew Draco wouldn't say anything, he added, "Don't worry. They know."

Harry, Remus and Sirius shared a look.

After a long while, Draco said softly, "Oh, okay … come in."

Harry slowly opened the door and saw Draco standing by the table, looking petrified. "Hey," he greeted with a smile. "You okay?"

Draco nodded stiffly.

Harry turned to gesture to the two men. "Draco, this is Remus and Sirius, my late father's two closest friends. Remus, Sirius, this is Draco."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Remus spoke.

Draco licked his lips. "Pleasure to meet you too." His eyes turned to Harry and then back to Remus quickly. "Harry didn't tell me anyone knew."

"We only just found out today."

Harry interrupted. "You didn't really give me a chance to tell you," he told Draco with a grin. "You forced me out."

"I wanted you to have fun," Draco explained.

"I know," Harry said, looking at Draco with warmth and affection.

A silence bordering on awkward settled in the room. Harry was relieved when Remus broke it a handful of seconds later.

"So, will you stay? In Gryffindor?" Remus asked.

Draco looked back at Remus. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do. I just … After the war finished, I didn't really want to return to Slytherin. But I supposed I'll have to eventually."

"We're glad you're here now," Sirius said.

Draco smiled hesitantly and released a breath. "I'm afraid not many others will be so welcoming," he responded, a hint of fear in his voice. "A lot of people won't take to the news lightly."

Remus gave Sirius a look and Sirius nodded in silent reply a second later. Remus turned to Draco. "The two of us, of all people, understand the most."

Draco's eyebrows dipped. "How so?"

Remus smiled and took Sirius' hand in his own warmly. Draco looked down at their joined palms and understanding crossed his face. Harry came over to stand beside Draco and smiled tenderly at him. "See? We're not so alone."

Draco turned his gaze to Harry and Harry was pleased to see his face had relaxed a little. "You could have told me," Draco said.

Harry grinned. "Where's the fun in that? You know I love surprises."

Draco nudged him playfully.

Harry laughed before taking a deep breath and sighing loudly. "Well! That's two down," Harry announced. "Just got figure out a way to tell the rest of the Kingdom."

Remus and Sirius chuckled. "Not to mention Ron."

Harry groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't remind me. I was about to, you know. Earlier on."

"And?" Remus asked.

Harry waved one hand off vaguely and chuckled. "I wasn't really in the mood to risk his wrath. Tomorrow, maybe. Tonight we should celebrate." Harry turned and grinned at Draco.

Sirius piped up. "Well in that case, come on then." He opened the door. "The party awaits us!"

"You two go," Harry said. "I think I've had enough of people trying to force me to drink alcohol."

Remus laughed, giving Harry a warm look, and moved to the door. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," Harry and Draco said.

The two men left and closed the door behind them.

As soon as they were alone, Draco slapped Harry.

"Ow!" Harry yelped.

"You could have told me they were coming!" Draco accused.

"I did! Before I came in I warned you—"

"That's not a warning! That was just announcing your arrival!" he hissed.

"But it didn't go so bad, did it?" Harry tried to placate.

"I wasn't ready! You gave me no time to prepare what to say!"

"You said everything fine."

"I look terrible!"

"No, you don't."

"And _you_ are a slob; look at this place."

"It's fine."

"It's an absolute mess—!"

Harry kissed him, lifting a hand to hold Draco's neck and nape. Draco's words died in his throat. Harry couldn't help but smile into the kiss, playfully caressing Draco's soft hair. Draco's hands held onto Harry's arms and moaned softly. Pleased at his reaction, Harry kissed harder, sliding his tongue forward and tasting Draco.

Just when Harry's lower regions were stirring, Draco pulled his mouth away. "How are you going to tell everyone else?"

"Tell them what?" Harry kissed Draco's neck.

"About us."

"Dunno." Harry pulled Draco closer and sucked at the skin near his pulse point.

"Harry, focus. When are you going to tell them?"

"Later."

"_Harry_," Draco hissed, "we need to discuss—"

"The only thing we need to discuss right now," Harry interrupted, wrapping his solid arms around Draco's waist, "is bedroom or couch?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "We're not doing this. Not when all your family and friends are two steps away from us."

"First, they're a lot further away than two steps to hear us, and second, they're far too busy having fun to care. Now, if you don't mind, I'd really like to have my own kind of fun with you." Harry nipped Draco's ear and licked it, pleased when he felt Draco shiver.

"We still shouldn't do this …" Draco warned.

"I'm the bloody King of this place," Harry growled. "And, unless I'm mistaken, you're practically the King of Slytherin. Who's to stop us?"

Draco paused, thinking. Harry straightened his neck to see Draco pondering what Harry had just said. A slow grin formed on the blond's face.

"Two Kings, huh?" Draco said.

Harry returned the grin. "Who would have thought?"

Draco licked his lips and stepped closer to Harry. "Well, as Gryffindor and Slytherin are such hostile enemies, I think it's up to their Kings to discuss some … diplomatic negotiations."

Harry's grin lengthened wolfishly. "I couldn't agree more."

"We need to come to some sort of agreement," Draco said, almost in a whisper, nipping Harry on his lips lightly.

"You know what," Harry said, smiling down at Draco and backing him into his bedroom, "Something tells me Gryffindor and Slytherin are going to get on just fine."

At the doorway into his room, Harry swept Draco up in his arms. Draco laughed lightly as Harry took him inside.

_**The End**_

_[Date finished: Monday, December 5 2011]_


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